


Sonant Moth

by Chishionotenshi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Belts, Breast Fucking, Chains, Dry Humping, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Substance Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Vaginal Sex, ropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 60
Words: 154,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chishionotenshi/pseuds/Chishionotenshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson is worried about his daughter, and he should be. Not only are his longtime enemies looking for her, but someone else is very interested in her, indeed. Meanwhile, his daughter meets some of his newest friends and allies, who are unable to tell her that Coulson was/still is alive. Will all the secrets and lies tear her apart before she can find the real truth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Checking In

**Author's Note:**

> This work is not officially associated with Marvel. Their characters are copyright to them and I only borrowed them for my amusement, not profit. The characters of Lexi and Ren belong to my bestest of friends: Khetienn. All others are mine.

Subject: Phillipa “Phil” Anne Coulson

Known Aliases/Previous Identities: Mary Anne Coulson, Mary Anne Crane

Age: 22 Birthday: August 24th

Height: 5’8”

Weight: (restricted access: level ten clearance required)

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Blue

*Related File: Detailed Physical Description (contains 6 photos)

Relatives: Mother- Agatha Lynne Crane (deceased - truncated access: level six clearance required) Father- Phillip “Phil/Agent” Coulson (deceased - truncated access: level six

clearance required)

Education: PS 213 - High School Diploma

*Related File: Student Protests 2006 (Participant List)

Occupation: Waitress at Dark of the Moon Restaurant and Nightclub

*Related File: Dark of the Moon Restaurant and Nightclub

*Related File: Mutant Employee List - Dark of the Moon Restaurant and Nightclub (restricted file access: level six clearance required)

*Related File: Jason “Jay” Tortello - Owner: Dark of the Moon, Restaurant and Nightclub (restricted access: level five clearance required)

*Related File: Mutant Activity Hotspots (Potential Meeting Locations)

*Related File: Jen Cameron’s Regular Haunts (restricted file access: level six clearance required)

*Related File: Brotherhood Member Sightings

*Related File: Morlock Sightings

Household Status: Shared corner apartment with roommate Karen Angela Orwell. Room 610, Smithfield Building. Rent is $1200/month. Phillipa’s bedroom is in the south-western corner, with the west-facing window.

*Related File: Karen Angela Orwell (restricted access: level three clearance required)

*Related File: Smithfield Building Residents (restricted access: level three clearance required)

Assets: Bank of America Bank Account (restricted access: level eight clearance required)

Current Balance: $368.27

Last Processed Purchase: $15.00 NY Farmer’s Market

History: (truncated file access: level six clearance required)

INPUT PASSWORD TO CONTINUE FILE  
********

Password Accepted

CONTINUE Y/N?

Phil Coulson looked quietly at the file on his computer screen, occasionally scrolling up and down idly. Today was a slow day for his unit at SHIELD, and he hoped to catch up on his daughter’s latest activities. With a sigh, he made a note to add some money to her account before the first, when her rent was due. Like most young people now, she frequently ran the risk of over-drawing just to pay her rent on time. Never mind that it was her money, and never mind how fast computers had become; the banks often took three days to register deposits, but mere minutes to recognize withdrawals. Therefore Phil frequently added two to three hundred dollars to her account during the last week of the month, under the guise of her mother’s estate. Agatha had not left an unspoken for penny behind, having drunk most of it up, but he had prepared for the possibility years before her death.

Phil would have loved to advise his daughter on how to ease out of her near-debt, but like quite a few people, she thought he was dead. Unlike most people, however, she had been under that misconception for over sixteen years. In all that time, Phil had only ever been able to catch glimpses of her in crowded public places, where he could easily slip away if she seemed to spot him.

The decision had not been his. One of the things SHIELD agents needed was the ability to remain fully focused on the task at hand. Families were discouraged or (at the time) kept secret from other agents, including partners, to reduce risks. Once, someone from A.I.M. had gotten close to Phil’s little girl on the playground, and that had been one time too many for Phil’s then-superior officer. He had ordered Phil to divorce Agatha and then fake his own death, thereby cutting all contact with his wife and child. Back then, SHIELD had not been everywhere, and it could hardly put up the front of being everywhere either. It had seemed the only decision Phil could make to protect his family.

At times like these, when all he had was a dossier, Phil knew that he had made the wrong choice. Agatha, had been fragile enough without the burden of single-parenthood. Caring for his precocious daughter during the bitter divorce and after his feigned death had been too much. Within months she had turned to alcohol to solve her problems. He should have known that she would, because it had been her own mother’s escape mechanism as well and there had been hints of the same trouble in college. He should have known better than to start a family at all. But he had been young and desperately in love. He had thought he could be a knight on a white steed, even though he got saddle sores just looking at pictures of horses.

Little Mary, named so by Agatha most insistently, had been just shy of six years old. Somehow she had found a way to hold things together long enough for the school year to end. Cleaning up after her destructive mother had become second nature to her, as well as learning to hold her tongue in a silence so total that it could almost swallow other people’s words. Never did Phil feel guiltier than when he realized this would be their holding pattern for years to come. Throughout the scholastic year, Mary would prop up her mother enough to keep people from realizing how badly off the tiny family was. During the summer, she would collapse into herself, only rousing when her birthday was past and it was time to prepare for the next grade.

When Agatha finally died, Mary changed her name back to Coulson and got a job at a tiny cafe, where her boss repeatedly “forgot” to pay her and stole her tips. She was only sixteen, and kicked out of her home by uncaring debt collectors. Only his payments from “Agatha’s estate” gave her any real cash flow. After scrounging the money, she paid her way into an Alternative Education facility and passed her GED just before she was shoved out of foster care. Phil wished that she would try college, but Agatha had shot down so many of her little dreams that she had no confidence to even think of bigger ones. His daughter knew how to pick up the pieces, but she had never learned to reach for new ones.

Out of habit, Phil checked the tags on her file. She was still friends with the mutant known as Domino, and her roommate Karen remained as shiftless as ever. Another note about the pro-mutant culture at her workplace was equally harmless. It did her good to have people she could relate to and this was a group of people Phil could depend on to help her out constantly. Jay Tortello did not actually take to people easily, but once he decided he adored someone, they were his friend for life. She was safe from further wage theft. A month-old tag mentioned her shift in status at work, but Phil noticed no one had yet mentioned her debut officially. It was a good thing he kept tabs on the restaurant via Facebook.

Then Phil saw the latest update to her file, only hours old. Who had moved in down the hall and come over to introduce himself? Damn!

Phil got on the comm. “May, get Ward and meet me in my office. I have a job for you two.”


	2. Running Late

 Phillipa awoke with a start, eyes at once landing on the clock. With a few choice swears, she rolled out of bed and into a pair of jeans. The summer heat, having arrived early this year, always made her drowsy. Once again, she had let it lull her back to sleep after her alarm went off. Now she only had twenty minutes before her bus left.  


Hopping down the hall, trying to get her left shoe on, Phillipa knew it would be of no use to yell at Karen. Clocks were completely invisible to her. Phillipa should know better than to trust Karen to give her any kind of timely notice. Especially since she could clearly see her roommate’s naked ass on the couch in the living room, absolving her of blame. The only blessing was that that sight covered up Karen’s equally naked new boytoy. Gathering up the blanket that was supposed to lie on the back of aforementioned furniture, Phillipa tossed it at the snoring blonde. Resorting to tactics she had been trained in last night, she settled for saying scathingly,  


“Jesus Karen, if you rear end was any whiter, I could use it to signal the air force! Cover up and spare the neighbors.” She then left for the relative safety of the kitchen and began to dig around in the cupboards for something fast to eat.  


“Aw come on, little Phil,” moaned Adam- the latest boy in her roommate’s black three ring binder- and then he chuckled. “You know you like it.”  
 

“What I know,” Phillipa corrected, ignoring for now the use of her nickname by someone she barely knew, “is that you two were doing it on the couch. Again. You have a bedroom for that, Karen. One far, far away from mine, might I add. People have to sit there.”  


Wrapping the blanket about her, Karen stood up. “But Phil, it’s so good on the couch.”  


“You should try it,” Adam teased. “Although it does tend to eat your clothes.”  


Phillipa completed her rummage, coming back to the breakfast bar in time to see Adam’s nude backside as he bent to peer under the couch cushions. Disgusted, she opened the can of peas while staring fixedly at the living room clock. By feel, she dumped them into a bowl. As she set the microwave, she called back,  


“I have no intention of trying it. A: I have no one to do it with, and B: I have some dignity.”  


“You could try it with me,” Adam suggested, appearing in the doorway, thankfully with pants on.  


“How Penthouse of you,” said Phillipa sarcastically, although her experience with said publication was by rumor alone. “I can see the tagline now: Girlfriend’s Roommate Seduced Over a Bowl of Sexy Peas.”  


“There are sexy peas?” asked Karen, still obviously naked under the blanket.  


Wordless, Phillipa threw up her hands. Only the piercing beep of the microwave spared the lovebirds. While she salted and ate her peas with an eye on the clock, Karen and Adam went back to snuggling on the couch. When Phillipa began checking the contents of her purse and pockets, however, Adam finally made the move to the door.  


Once Karen closed the door on him, she turned to look at Phillipa, eyes wide and body braced against the door, as if to hold it shut. “God Phil, I slept with him.”  


“I know you did. Why do you think I was trapped in my room for an hour?”  


“No, Phil, you don’t understand. I slept with him.”  


“I know. I caught the beginning of the show! You were right here!” Phillipa informed Karen, as if the blonde was suffering short term memory loss, whilst slipping her bus fare into the right pocket of her jeans.  


Karen came over and grabbed her arm, in very real danger of exposing herself. “No, listen: I was supposed to break up with him.”  


“Wow, he must be confused.” She was being heartless, but she only had seven minutes left and Jessica had coached for practically her whole shift her last night. “I mean, you say that you need to see other people, and then have a romp on the couch that lasts for an hour. He must think you have multiple personalities or something.”  


“I didn’t exactly. . . get around to telling him- you know. I meant to, but then he smiled at me and I couldn’t help myself.”  


“It’s not like his hips and yours are magnetically attracted to each other. You ought to know better, Karen. Now you’ve made it that much more awkward when you tell him tomorrow.”  


The blonde twisted one end of the blanket in her hands anxiously, a sign Phillipa was coming to know and dread. “Actually, I was hoping. . . you would tell him?”  


“What? No! No, not again, Karen. You need to do these things yourself. I have to go to work. Call him if you can’t do it in person without jumping his bones. You’ve got time to plan it all out anyway. It’s not like he’s going to be back here any time soon.”  


As if in response, someone knocked on the door. Phillipa and Karen exchanged glances. Then, seeing Phillipa move to open the door, the blonde gave a little shriek and ran for her room.  


“Fantastic,” muttered Phillipa, at the end of her patience with the universe at large. Yanking the door open, she intoned, “I have found Jesus and don’t want to play hide and seek with him or any other deity again. I do not need anything you are selling, nor do I want it. Neither do I have money, comestibles, clothing or other household items, nor time to spare. That about covers it. Have a nice day.”  


The two individuals in the hallway stared at her blankly. Seizing the advantage, as she generally did, Phillipa pushed past them. She made it to the third stair before they got their collective act together.  


“Wait,” shouted the man, in a suit and tie. “We need to talk!”  


“Not a chance,” Phillipa called back, trotting down the stairway as fast as she could. “I have work.”  


“We’re not selling anything,” he said somewhat desperately, taking the stairs as quickly as she was. “We need to give you some important information that could save your life.”  


“I do not need to be Witnessed,” Phillipa panted. “Seriously, I need to catch my bus. Maybe you could ask Jesus to help with that. Or Jehovah. I’m not picky about names.”  


She hit the exit at a trot and turned that into an all-out run for the bus stop. If she had been in a generous mood, she might have tipped her non-existent hat to the pair; they kept up the pace. Instead, she was annoyed. Did no one in this city believe in privacy, or just plain leaving others alone?  


“Cutting it fine today,” the bus driver scolded as she scrambled aboard. “One of these days, you’re going to miss me all together.”  


“Impossible. I know you’d hold the bus for me Charlie, gentleman that you are. You’re just that kind of great.”  


Waving aside her compliment, while Phillipa’s change plinked into the machine, Charlie asked, “And your friends here? Are they coming too?”  


Phillipa turned. The two strangers had come all the way to the bus stop. Leveling a first-class glare at them, she informed the driver firmly, “No, they aren’t.”  


Closing the door, Charlie nodded to Phillipa. “Better take your seat, then. We have to get you to work on time, after all.”  


With a certain amount of smug satisfaction, she did. Today, she had avoided doing any questionable favors for Karen and dodged two persistent religious nuts. Thanks to Charlie, she would avoid being late, too. It almost made up for the couch. A little Febreeze and a towel, and Phillipa could almost sit on it again.  
***

Agent Grant Ward goggled at the bus as it drove away. “Damn! I can’t believe she blew us off like that!”  


His partner, Melinda May, gave a cool shrug. “She was bold and caught you off guard. It is to be expected that she gained the upper hand.”  


“She did not have the upper hand. She just took off! I mean, most people will give you two minutes.”  


May turned away, clearly uninterested in his annoyance. “Maybe she did not have two minutes. Come on.”  


“What?”  


“She said that she was on her way to work,” the driver pointed out, as though Ward should have remembered. “You can try again there. Or would you prefer to report to Agent Coulson first?”  


If Agent Ward had been Catholic, he would have crossed himself; his boss would not like failure in this case. “No, we’ll go and check out her job. ‘Dark of the Moon,’ it’s called.”  


“I am aware,” said May coolly as she opened her door.  


“Funny name,” Ward commented while he buckled up. “I bet it’s a total hipster dive. You know: bad haircuts and clothes that should be thrown away. Like skinny jeans with their grandmother’s dress or beard enough for a lumberjack with 80’s sweater vests and tribal piercings. Oh, and everyone trying to out-sneer pop culture to each other. God, I hope they have alcohol.”


	3. Debut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist for this night is can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kw2Ic_2XdVQ&list=PL-dJN3CYAC1mnT0gwxKr-Xx9hfviskEgN

“Pile on the eyeliner, darlings,” trilled Jay. “And loosen those corsets just a smidgeon. After all, it’s German Dance Party Sunday!”  


“It is?” said Phillipa rather helplessly. She wished her boss could make a schedule and not “whatever popped into his head is what is happening.” She hitched up her petticoat, dreading the pounding music to come and thinking fondly, not for the first time, of her old piano recitals.  


Jay drifted airily over to her and patted her head gently. “Phillipa, my pet, I ought to give you a bonus so that you can get yourself an iPhone. At least then you would be prepared. Although, that would make the other girls jealous. So save up, my little dove. And wear the white. I want you shining!”  


He floated away to scold Claire for wearing green eye shadow, and pronounce Erin a perfect doll in red. Next to Phillipa, Jessica smooshed her lips together, spreading her dark blue tint perfectly. She winked at Phillipa while spreading a clear gloss over the tint, revealing her black star as completely filled in, right down to the eyelid.  


“I tried to call you at home, but you’d already left. Jay does tend to forget you live forty-five minutes away in traffic. Tie my strings? I’ll do yours.”  


“Of course,” Phillipa answered happily. As she tugged on the laces, she added, “I really ought to call ahead, but Karen-”  


“Another boy? Maybe you should move the phone into your room. That’s the second guy this month, right?”  


“And on our couch too,” grunted Phillipa, tying the laces as tightly as she dared. Later, Jay would come along and adjust everyone.  


“Your roommate is kind of a whore,” Claire commented, having abandoned the green for orange and black. “No offense to you. We all have to take what we can get. But, really, shared furniture is totally out of bounds.”  


“How long were they at it?” asked Kat, with dark eyes and blood red lips, but no dress yet.  


“An hour,” Phillipa admitted, as she shimmied into her white and cream frock. “I even tried sarcasm, but I think she may be tossing him soon and wasn’t paying attention.”  


“You should totally _toss_ that couch,” Erin suggested. “And let me do your hair and make-up. Jay already said he wants you to shine, and I know how to make it happen.”  


Phillipa submitted readily, since Erin always looked gorgeous. On her own, Phillipa only just managed to avoid raccoon eyes. With Jessica lacing her in, Erin taking care of her head, and Jay returning with a pair of white heels, delightfully frilled and lacy, Phillipa hardly needed to lift a finger.  


“Nervous, darling?” Jay questioned, dropping his normally boisterous mask. “It is allowed, you know.”  


“Not yet,” Phillipa answered, closing her eyes as Erin dabbed on more eyeshadow.  


“You shouldn’t be. You’ll knock ’em all dead,” insisted Jessica.  


Pursing his black lips, Jay added in a mock-whine, “And I have set everything up so that they simply will have to pay attention to you.”  


“With breasts and legs like those, every man in the place ought to be eying you at once,” teased Claire, who was not under-burdened herself.  


The restaurant girls piled in then, filling the room to capacity and then some. Last year, Phillipa had been one of them: wearing the clothes and feigning interest in the culture. After the “Battle for New York,” Jay had started playing some lighter music and Phillipa had fallen suddenly in love. She borrowed a CD- Nightwish’s “Once”- and got caught singing along to the song “Nemo.” A quick shove on the stage later, and her cozy anonymous life was as good as over.  


Now Phillipa was a cocktail girl, the name given to those who performed between dance floor mobs. They were named after patrons’ tendency to grab a table and a drink while they listened. Although she had done a few songs already, tonight she was to carry the greater part of the shows. That meant five songs and an encore, just in case.  


“Phillipa’s ready, Jay,” Erin announced.  


“Très magnifique,” Jay decided, after a long look. “Now, for your hair: your first butterfly.”  


All the girls applauded as Phillipa blushed. Performers wore butterflies on their person, but where was set by Jay on the eve of their debut. Even though the owner would never be interested in a relationship with any of the girls, he nevertheless loved them. He picked their clothes, make-up and jewelry with an eye to making all of them look their personal best. And Phillipa knew she could ask him for any favor and have it in a heartbeat. Jay had a heart as big and open as the sky.  


“Take a quick peek at your lovely self and then come away, my dear. We need to have you in place by opening.”  


As commanded, Phillipa found a free patch of mirror and ogled herself. Her normally pale round face was luminous, with her blue eyes taking pride of place. Erin had worked miracles there with blue eyeliner to bring out the blue of her eyes, and the lightest of pink on her lips, to avoid over-powering them. Somehow, her dull brown hair had been curled and pinned up elaborately, soft waves running along her forehead to take away any hint of severity. The whole concoction rested on the back right of her head, letting Phillipa conclude that she could never manage something so elegant on her own. Her glittering, but not tasteless, butterfly gave the delicate style just a hint of glitz.  


An acreage of chest was wholly exposed by her dress and shimmered in the soft light, thanks to the body powder Erin had used. Despite the low décolletage, her sleeves were long, belling out at the elbow and stuffed with lace to keep their shape. Likewise, the lacy skirt was supported by extremely stiff petticoats of white. Stopping at mid-thigh, they allowed a peek at the white garter with cream roses that adorned her left leg.  


“We have some Japanese tourists coming in tonight,” Don, the bouncer, told Phillipa when he saw her trailing after Jay heading towards the stage. “You’re going to make a killing tonight. They love this kind of look. Doesn’t hurt that you look fantastic anyway.”  


Phillipa had to laugh, somewhat breathlessly. “No pressure, right?”  


Winking, Don agreed, “None at all.”  


“That’s enough flirting, you two. Save it for the customers. After all, they have money.” Jay dragged Phillipa backstage. “Now, about your set list, dove: are you sure you want to open with-”  


“Positive. It’s my best song. You said so.”  


Jay nodded. “Of course. But, pet, sometimes it’s better to start with second or third best, just to surprise them with the best later on.”  


“No way. I’m going to knock ’em dead right away and keep riding the wave.”  


Searching her face, Jay asked, “Are you nervous now?”  


“Terrified.”  


“Then we’ll open with your best,” he decided firmly. “You do it too well to worry about it.”  


Phillipa nodded. “I just think of my mother and I know exactly how to sing it.”  


“Well, that crazy old bitch might never have been proud of you, but I am. And your dad would be too, Phillipa darling. As a rule, I don’t think much of religion, but if there is a heaven, then your old man must be up there smiling like a cat with a mouse.”  


Like she always did, Phillipa felt her eyes fill up at the mention of her father. She missed him every day, as if he had disappeared just the day before. But it had been sixteen years: sixteen long and devastating years waiting for a reunion that could never be. Rather than dwell on the fact, Phillipa hastily fanned at her eyes.  


“Thank you, Jay.”  


“All right, let’s not stand about, drowning in sentimentality. I’ll give you a desperate wave at five ‘til show time.”  


Obediently, Phillipa went to her place. Somewhere- and it was best not to guess where- Jay had found a simple cage. It held one person comfortably, if cold iron bars were their thing. Being Jay, he had covered it in gold leaf. During her sets, Phillipa would stand in it to sing. Not that it was purchased for her specifically; she had seen all of the cocktail girls inside of it or using it at some point.  


Patrons were being let in by the time Phillipa had shut herself in. The Japanese claimed the tables directly in front of the stage immediately. Others- regulars, probably, took tables to the sides, or in the back, because those would not be moved to make way for the dancers.  


As promised, Jay gave a frantic and elaborate wave. Phillipa winked at him, like the other girls did. She was ready, and strangely serene. The next five minutes would surely pass quickly and then there would be nothing more to think about.  


Another glance over the crowd revealed a familiar face. He had been coming in for about two months, and Phillipa always felt as though he was watching her. The other girls swooned over his dark hair, pale skin and bright blue eyes, but he never seemed to pay them more than a few minutes’ worth of attention. At least now he had a reason to be raking his bold eyes over Phillipa’s body. Raising his glass in salute, he acknowledged that she had caught him looking with a mocking toast. It should have been too dim for her to see his grin, but the spotlight was not yet on.  


Before it slammed on and partially blinded her, Phillipa noticed a man in a suit near the front. Familiar just in silhouette, she thought he had the right build to be trouble. Had that nut from earlier somehow tailed her to work? Surely that was impossible.  


Then the music began, and Phillipa gave up wondering. She set her body just barely against the bars and brought the mic up to her lips. In her mind, she was fourteen again, walking cautiously into the kitchen on a Saturday morning, poised to discover whether her mother was hung over or still drunk. A deep breath later, she was beginning.  


“One day, you’ll smile again. I can’t say no to you. Crave my heart and it’s bleeding in your hand. I can’t say no to you.”  


Both the music and Phillipa carried on through Evanescence’s “Good Enough.” The crowd, on the other hand, was strangely silent. Usually they were at least cat-calling. For Phillipa, journeying in her mind back to one of the (many) painful days of her life, their stillness felt right. None of them had been there, but now she could carry them along her emotional path. To feel so much was hard and required absolute concentration. Perhaps that was why she was hearing nothing: she was too caught up in the memory.  


As the last notes faded away people slowly, clumsily began to applaud. Phillipa wondered what they had experienced, but Jay was already bouncing up on the stage, his charisma garnering still louder ovation. With a pretend glare, he held up his hands and silence fell.  


“Now, is that any way for gloomy Goths to behave?” Amid the laughter, he continued. “Darlings, Children of the Night, I give you: Miss Coulson.”  


As practiced, Phillipa brought the mic back to her lips, this time for Within Temptation’s “Somewhere.” Once more, she was back in time. Now she was six years old and putting her precious remaining photographs under her mattress so that her mother could not destroy them. She was kneeling at the window, watching through the night for his car. Even though he had never come home, she was certain that she could find him, “somewhere.”  


Through the applause, Jay let her out of the cage for a curtsy, and then led her over the floor toward the dressing room. Briefly she caught sight of the regular watching her. Something in his eyes made her pause, but Jay’s firm grip towed her onward and she lost sight of her admirer.  


The closing of the dressing room door seemed a cue for Phillipa’s legs to give out. Luckily, Jessica was ready with the wobbly, white, and lonely dressing room chair. Jay whisked out after a short “Congratulations,” and the two girls were left alone.  


“Takes you funny, doesn’t it?” Jessica sympathized. “We’re all like that, the first time. Although most of us are just lip-syncing. You and Kat are the only two who dare do it for real. I envy you.”  


“Me? I just stood there. You dance around and have sets-”  


Jessica laughed. “And a voice like a frog. Listen, Miss Coulson, you have talent. When you were singing, I felt what those songs were really about. Even Kat, with all her polish, doesn’t convey half of what you did. I bet Jay is out there having fits about how good you were.”  


Helplessly, Phillipa shrugged. “I just chose songs I understand, really. Kat has a much bigger repertoire than I ever will.”  


“A big song list isn’t everything. Now, have some water and get ready for Jay to come drag you off to meet people. Just nod and smile. Throw in some thanks and humility for good measure. You are going to have to night of your life.”  


Phillipa certainly did. After a song by Nightwish, a very light dinner, and a song by Epica, she tipped her hat to the night’s theme with Rammstein’s “Ohne Dich.” That was supposed to be her final song. To her surprise, an encore was demanded, and she had to oblige, if only to say she had been encored. Rather than reprise an earlier song, Phillipa chose one that she had been practicing.  


“Bold,” Jay commented when she told him. “But you’ve got it, golden girl.”  


Almost in awe of her own daring, Phillipa took the stage yet again. Yes, her watcher was still there. He had spent the whole night paying attention to no one else. Even Claire had complained that he was distant, and Claire was not interested in men. It was definitely time for a little payback. Now he was going to be her inspiration and it would not be all imaginary. What would he think of it?  


“I’m dying to catch my breath,” Phillipa began, looking right at the dark-haired, blue-eyed man. “Oh, why don’t I ever learn? Lost all my trust though I’ve surely tried to turn it around.”  


She watched him look puzzled and amused as he realized that she was singing to him. It was dangerous to provoke a near stranger like this, but Phillipa no longer cared. As before, everyone seemed to fade, except for this man who could not keep his eyes off of her. She wanted to challenge him; wanted to warn him. Many women could play at love, flirting across an entire room with no firm intentions. Phillipa could not. The only reason she could banter with Jay was because he would never be interested in her. Every other man terrified her, including Don and even Adam, whom she hardly knew. Most women terrified her too. So, would this admirer comprehend that she did not wish to be toyed with and discarded? Love had to be more.  


By the end of her second Within Temptation piece, Phillipa thought that he might have a glimmer. Even as the applause burst out, her admirer was still locking gazes with her. He mouthed something, but Phillipa could have sworn that she heard his voice, soft and seductive, directly in her ear,  


“I would never abandon you.”  


Suddenly Jay was on stage beside her, announcing her exclusive engagement at Dark of the Moon. It must have tickled him to use the term, since he said it twice more. Then, she was ushered into the dressing room and installed there to greet anyone whom Jay particularly wanted her to see, and anyone who had the ability to flirt their way past the other girls.  


More than a little dazed, Phillipa gave her hand out to be shaken, pumped fervently, and even clutched at. Tourists, regulars, and several well-connected people paraded in. They left reluctantly, wanting pictures, confirmation of her continuing appearances, and even to book her for private parties. It all seemed a fantastic dream.  


Then, in a lull when even Jay had given Phillipa time alone, her admirer appeared. Up close, he was gorgeous: tall, lean and with an air of total control about him, as well as something she could not quite define. Phillipa stood, although she had no idea how she could squeeze out even one word in his presence. Her power of speech, not mention her breath, was stolen away when he knelt and kissed the knuckles of her right hand. Still down on one knee, he grinned up at Phillipa. Her own knees were definitely turning to jelly.  


He did not seem to need her to talk, thankfully. Politely, he pulled forward her chair and gestured for her to sit. Trying not to dwell on how attractive she now found long hair, Phillipa concentrated on preserving some grace.  


“You were lovely,” he said, in the same voice Phillipa had heard from impossibly far away.  


“Thank you,” she managed to gasp out, avoiding all but the tiniest of squeaks. It was almost as if she was being enveloped in a soft fog, too swept away to notice how close he was, lost in his brilliant blue gaze. As if he were already intimately acquainted with her, he ran a hand along her thigh, and she allowed him, completely hypnotized.  


“I look forward to the day when you sing for me alone,” he continued, holding her paralyzed with his soft tones. “There will be many who envy me my perfect bride. Of course, you know nothing of this yet. I felt that you should hear it, so that this will come as no surprise.”  


Taking her face in gentle hands, as soft as a woman’s, he added even more quietly, “I do not like to wait, but some things have their proper time. After this, you will forget that I have been here. Until we meet again, my own.”  


At first, the touch of his lips was nearly imperceptible, but they quickly took on a passion entirely inappropriate to a first kiss. Phillipa felt her heart speed up as he moved from her lips down her neck. He was not gentle, but neither did it hurt, exactly. He nipped at the base of her neck, bringing a gasp to her lips. If it was to be only this once and forgotten after, Phillipa thought through the fog, there was something she needed to know.  


“Please,” she whispered, and he paused to look at her. “Tell me your name.”  


With another grin, he brought his face back up to hers. His hands tangled in her hair as he locked eyes with her. Dislodged, her butterfly tinkled to the floor. When he answered, his voice was rougher than before, causing a strange, sinking sensation in Phillipa’s belly.  


“I am the Trickster, the god of mischief and lies. I am fire and I will devour you, my own.” Once again, he softly brushed his lips against hers. “I will devour you, own you- and I will never leave you. I have waited so long for you. You will belong only to me.”  


Again, his kiss became rougher, burning with a passion to match his words. Phillipa gave in all too easily, as if she could not hold out against him; as if she did not want to. Even though she could feel his hot skin and his lips, it all seemed to be slipping away. The last sensation was the barest breath in her ear:  


“My name. . . is Loki.”


	4. Rematch

Shifting from one foot to the other, Agent Grant Ward cursed his social ineptitude. He had seen half a million people go into the dressing room where that girl was, and he still could not get an invitation. Of course, he knew how to flirt, but it was all arrogance and posturing on his part and none of the women here seemed to buy it. So, how was he going to get in?  


This was past crazy, even for SHIELD. First off, Coulson had a daughter- okay, Grant could figure that out, even to the logical point where she had no idea her father was among the living. But this was a nightclub that was just this side of a strip club, given the outfits. Plus, the mutant population was high, maybe the highest in the city. That probably made her feel right at home, he thought darkly. Still, how could Coulson let her work at a place that used her body for advertising?  


“You look like a man with something on his mind.” Turning to his left, Agent Ward found himself being addressed by the owner.  


While inwardly screaming like a girl at the sight of a man walking the gender line so blatantly, Ward knew he had to take his probably lone chance. “I was hoping to congratulate your new star. She was something else.”  


“Isn’t she a perfect gem?” trilled the owner; actually trilled like an over-medicated granny. It clashed with the tight leather pants, black lips and extensive black eyeliner, badly.  


“I was impressed,” Grant agreed, trying to sound like it. Honestly, he had no idea what the fuss was about. He was a classic rock man, and no fan of female singers. There had been something off about it, besides.  


“Well, I suppose I could squeeze in one last admirer. What was your favorite song, darling?”  


Trying not to be thrown by the endearment, Grant said, “Her first.”  


“Yes, that is her best. Do mention it. I’m sure she’ll be tickled. Let me give her a moment to freshen up. We can’t let her disappoint such a nice-looking boy.”  


The owner was back in mere moments, so he did not get to stew long over being referred to as a “boy.” Grant was well past that age! Instead, he dedicated the time to wondering how this conversation would play out. Agent Coulson had been very firm about this being an indirect warning. No matter what, she was not to be told the whole story and absolutely no names.  


After he was pushed into the small dressing room, Grant knew exactly how to put things to Miss Coulson. In a glance, he knew her state of mind was rattled, ecstatic and exhausted. Best to get straight to the point before she could run off again. Funny that Coulson’s kid was so good at avoiding facing her problems. The owner flitted out, leaving them totally alone. Although her eyes narrowed suspiciously, she politely offered him a seat on the ratty couch. He declined. She had not stood up, and looked worn out enough to excuse it. In a word, she was vulnerable. Grant decided to seize control at once.  


“I’m sorry to bother you, but I honestly need to speak with you, Miss Coulson. I am not a Witness, and I am really not selling anything. My name is Agent Grant Ward, from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Your activities are raising some red flags in our department, and my supervisor suggested I warn you to be careful.”  


“Careful of what?” she asked. “My internet activities? My library history? I’m not doing anything dangerous.”  


“What about your job, Miss Coulson?”  


“I’m a waitress! No one has done more than spill a drink on me. I’m pretty sure that waitressing isn’t on the top ten ‘Most Dangerous Jobs’ list.”  


“Dressed like that?” Agent Ward shot back smoothly. “If you were on the street, the cops would accuse you of soliciting.”  


“It’s a costume,” she said witheringly.  


“And I’m sure your father would be so proud, seeing you dressed like this.”  


Immediately, Grant wished he had not said that, but she rallied quickly to fire back, “Maybe he would be. How would you know?”  


“I work with you father-”  


“That’s impossible! You wouldn’t have been more than ten when he died.”  


Cursing his verbal slip, he tried to take back control. “With your father’s company, I mean. Any father would be disgusted by a daughter who dresses like a tramp. Look, Miss Coulson-”  


Bright red, she cut him off. “I seem to be lacking a handkerchief bundle on a stick, so take that back.”  


Did she really not get it? Grant gave up on trying to explain his mission, in the face of this much more current problem. It was as if she had no idea how dressing in this trashy manner endangered her safety in general, completely aside from the current danger. How could she not realize that? She was a woman, after all. So, he would lay it out clearly for her. He was tired of dancing around subjects that she should be totally aware of already.  


“Your breasts are so exposed that I am genuinely surprised I can’t see your nipples. And anyone sitting close enough during your ‘performances’ must have seen your underthings. I hope they were interesting. If you didn’t look like a tramp to your father, it’s because you already looked like a whore! And plenty of people will think the same. Girls like you are the reason men treat women like sex objects: you make yourself one and expect them to control themselves! If you dress like a tramp, men will treat you like one, which they probably already do!”  


At last- exhausted or not- she shot to her feet, obviously ready to give him a raking over. Just as quickly, however, her face went chalky white and she collapsed. Grant stared, nonplussed. What had just happened? A tingling presentiment informed him that he had screwed this up badly.  


“All right, nightingale, I brought you an honest dinner,” someone announced behind him. He quickly stepped out of the way of the door and positioned himself to best face the potential threat. This was not going to be most innocent-looking way to be discovered.  


It turned out to be one of the other performers, and she gave him a look of pure loathing, which looked quite ominous due to the black star that covered the whole of her left eye. There was something about her that screamed mercenary. Unfortunately, Grant did not recognize her as one of the known threats, which meant he had no idea how to neutralize her.  


“What are you doing in here?”  


“I was just-”  


“Phillipa!” She brushed right past him to tend the girl. “You, get out. Now!  


“But-” he protested, intending to offer help. It turned out to be one of his less-than-glorious moments, since she had him up against the wall, pressing her arm into his throat, before he could finish. There was just enough pressure to suggest that things could get worse at any moment.  


“She has enough to deal with in her life without one of you bothering her, understand? If I see you again, I will get rough. Stay the hell away from her, Agent,” she spat, and then released him.  


Staggering out, not even pausing to rub reflexively at his throat, Grant had to wonder: if that was not even rough, how much worse could it get? And where had she learned to neutralize someone so quickly? More importantly, why did she recognize that he was an Agent of SHIELD? Next time, he would bring a gun, if all that kid’s friends were like this. For now, he would head back to the waiting May. Failing twice was enough for one day. Miserable, Grant knew one firm fact: his boss was not going to be happy. Not that he knew what his boss expected; he was not a welcoming committee, or a warning committee either, damn it.


	5. Protection

When Phillipa came to, Jessica had brought Jay to lift her on to the couch. The girls on break had crowded into the dressing room, but gave her enough space to avoid being kicked out. Wholly confused, Phillipa stared at everyone staring at her.  


“What happened?”  


“You fainted,” Jessica told her. “I kicked out that guy, who obviously did something to make you faint. More importantly, which one of you let a guy like that in, in the first place?”  


All the girls looked around innocently. Biting her lip, Phillipa tried to remember who it had been. Then again, she was not a snitch, so it hardly mattered. Then again, someone had left her alone with a stranger, without thinking about her safety.  


“I fear it was me. He did seem so sincere,” Jay added, looking aggrieved.  


“And we all know you’re a sucker for a pretty face in a suit,” Erin finished with a sigh. “Jay, and I mean this with all love and respect, you’re completely hopeless.”  


Claire shook her head, looking worried and determined at the same time. “Maybe so, but I’m still giving his name and description to Don, and Martina. I don’t like any guy who gets a girl alone and knocks her out.”  


“He didn’t knock me out. I fainted. At least, I think I did.” Phillipa struggled to recall everything. “We were arguing and I stood up-”  


“Back that up,” Jessica commanded. “What were you arguing about?”  


Phillipa flushed. “He said my dad would think I was dressed like a whore.”  


“Banished!” Jay decreed. “My outfits are glorious! Works of art! You would never see them on the streets!”  


“Not at all. You could never run from the cops in them,” Erin agreed, blonde tresses bobbing in time with her nods. “Also, it creeps me out that he brought up your father.”  


“Total Creep,” the room agreed.  


“Well, he said that he worked at my dad’s old company. Um. . . that’s also bad isn’t it?”  


“Yeah, my vote just moved to Total Stalker,” Claire answered. The others nodded again, except for Jessica, Phillipa noticed.  


“I’m taking you home,” her friend announced.  


“But- but it’s not even midnight! What about the rest of your shift? I can catch a bus home, really.”  


Jay was already shaking his head, and the other girls joined him. “You fainted once, golden girl. No sense in letting you wander off on your lonesome. Anything could happen.”  


“I’ll take it out of you another time,” Jessica promised with a wicked grin. “So change out of your glamorous clothes and get in the pumpkin.”  


“Said the wicked stepmother,” muttered Claire. She was rewarded with a head thump, and the two girls started playfully wrestling.  


Technically dismissed, Phillipa had little choice but to follow directions. She was too tired to do much else. Now she knew why the cocktail girls only worked until midnight on performance nights: how could they do more? Just the thought of walking one more hour in her heels was enough to make her consider something less exciting, like lion-taming. So, she would change and go home. Bed sounded heavenly, and she was going to be in it half an hour sooner than expected. It had been an okay night after all.


	6. Reflection

The next morning, Phillipa was not able to agree with her assessment. She ached all over, even in places she was not aware previously that she had. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and hit the floor gracelessly. At least, Phillipa reflected as she lay sprawled over the pink floor mat, she probably could not hurt any more than she already did. Somewhere in that thought was some kind of comfort.  


She managed to push herself up onto her hands and knees, and then sat back on her haunches, clutching at her head. German Techno was fine, in small doses. Jay did not believe in anything small, however. Which fact definitely said more about him than she wanted to know.  


Finally giving up on wishing away her aches, Phillipa stood up and made her stumbling way to her closet. Today was an important day- the important day. She had to be something resembling timely. Shoving the door open as gently as possible to avoid that horrible grinding noise it always made, Phillipa stared unhappily at her choices. Strike that: her choice.  


Clean or dirty was not important here, because there was only one thing she could wear today. It was the only thing in her closet that was remotely appropriate, which Phillipa did regret. Somehow all of her money went to the bills and rent, and basics. She never seemed to have any new clothes, unless someone gave her something. That had happened twice, that she could remember. What now hung innocently on a hanger, completely unaware of its fearful qualities, had been a gift from her group mother, on the day that she had moved out.  


Even this was not technically new, since it had been worn by three other girls before Phillipa. She ought to have donated it herself, seeing as how it suited no one less than her. However, it was the only one of its kind that she owned, and on days such as this, she needed it. So she yanked it cruelly from its home in the depths of her closet and set off for a hopefully warm shower.  


Karen was not in, which was the only explanation for there being hot water left for Phillipa. Of course, she was grateful that the blonde had spent the night out, instead of hanging around flirting with men she had no intention of being honest with. For all that, there was something homey about knowing Phillipa was not alone in the apartment. Even though she did not admit it to the girls at work, Phillipa would take Karen over living alone any day. Alone was empty.  


Suddenly, soap in her hair, Phillipa remembered the man from the previous night. How dare her say those things to her? What was wrong with him? And why did he drag her father into it?  


If he was a stalker, Phillipa could guess why: he had figured out how important her dad was to her. It was hardly difficult to find out. Even though he had vanished from her life when she was six years old, she still worried over how he would want her to be. He was the one person she wanted to believe had loved her wholeheartedly.  


Years ago, one of the girls in the group home had pointed out, rightly as well as cruelly, that Phillipa did not know that he loved her for a fact. There was the divorce, and she had been so young when he died. Phillipa, the girl had sneered, was only guessing. She did not know. Nor could she ever be certain.  


Would her father not mind what Phillipa had to wear to make rent? She had tried to believe that he would understand, and that he would be happy for her. Right now, so much seemed to be going well: she had an apartment that was not infested completely with roaches, she had a job that did not degrade her entirely, and she had friends- how could he have been mad about one tiny, minuscule aspect of it all?  


Because Agent Whatshisface was right about one thing: she was playing with fire, dressing the way she did at work. All the girls knew it, which was why they kept close tabs on each other and patrons who were a little too touchy or mouthy. And Phillipa was the only one who routinely went home alone. It was dangerous. Every night as she hurried while trying not to look as though she was hurrying, Phillipa was counting the blocks until she could see her building; that was safety. Until her door was closed and bolted behind her, though, anything could happen.  


Too, Phillipa was aware that the other girls had a hard time finding decent boyfriends. Jessica flatly said she was not even going to bother searching. Men were far too possessive to let them wear what they needed to at work, so what was the point? Honestly, though, someone like Phillipa was unlikely to attract a man, anyway. Besides, Karen was sort of a black hole for men. Once or twice, Phillipa had brought in a guy that seemed sort of nice for coffee, and by the end of their first greeting to her roommate, it was obvious that coffee was no longer on their minds.  


So, she stayed lonely. And scared. And scared of being lonely forever. Everyone said that she had plenty of time left to find that someone, but Phillipa was starting to wonder if such a person existed. Or if they would even want her. She knew exactly how her mother had turned out; who was to say Phillipa would not end up the same?  


Someone flushed their toilet and Phillipa received a dousing of cold water. She gave up on trying to rinse off her increasingly disjointed worries. After wringing her hair out one last time, she stepped out of the shower and began to vigorously rub herself dry. Maybe this was the way to shake her gloom.  


As she finished, she took stock in the mirror. It was all as usual: same boring and somewhat unmanageable brown hair, same slightly too big blue eyes, and still the same tiny nose. Here were her embarrassingly hard to shop for breasts- it was as if everyone in the world had a 34C and went shopping the day before Phillipa. She tended to make do with 36B, even though there was never enough cup. There were her too wide hips and not-so-flat stomach. If only she could look like Erin: tiny, blonde and perfect. Or more like Jessica: bold and wiry, with eyes that promised hell to any man who dared. Phillipa was probably destined to be flabby and uninteresting.  


Then, in the midst of her self-loathing, Phillipa noticed something new. On the base of her neck, to the left, was a bruise. It was not very large, but it was puzzling. If the lace of the collar she had been wearing last night had rubbed her, she did not remember it. She certainly did not remember doing anything to bruise herself, though. Could it have occurred when she fainted? No, that did not seem likely. Besides, it was circular, almost like a hick-  


Phillipa cut off that train of thought immediately. Firstly, no one had done more than shake hands with her yesterday. Also, Jessica had assured her that she had cut in on the guy too fast for him to do anything untoward. No, it had to have been the lace. Maybe an overdone line of glue on that side.  


She touched it with a finger, one of those stupid things that she just had to do, to see how bad it was. There was a little throb when she poked it, and, unexpectedly, an answering throb in her belly, as if she was remembering something extremely erotic. Blushing furiously, Phillipa withdrew the finger and hurried to get dressed. It would be hard enough to find a man to stay with her as she was, without having some disturbing kink to tangle things up!  


Checking the clock as she mercilessly brushed out her wet hair, Phillipa saw that she had enough time to visit Mr. Gonzales on the corner. There was something she would need, before the ride Jessica had promised to her last night showed up. If only she did not have to wear this damn- well, some things just had to be endured.  


Ready to go, Phillipa put her towel on the hook, and tossed Karen’s into the hamper. Later on, she would have to remind the blonde to do some laundry. Dinner was already prepared in the fridge, so all Phillipa had to do now was write a note and head out. As she went back to her room to count her tips from the night before, Phillipa was quite determined that she was not going to think about the bruise any further, nor about her clothes. Today was the day, and she had to concentrate.


	7. Oops

Skye tripped lightly into the command center, which act Agent Ward took personal offense to. Why did that nosy hacktavist have to be so damn cheerful all the time? She ought to have been quashed by everything that had gone on, especially her internet nanny- as she called her tracking bracelet. Also, why was she coming over to his side? She knew he was not a morning person after a long night of work, nor an afternoon person, nor an any-time-of-day person. The office was for work, not interruptions by suspiciously cheerful underlings.  


“Good morning!” she said with far too much enthusiasm.  


He grunted a non-committal reply, hoping to suggest that he was too busy and she should leave. No such luck. Honestly, how long had they been on this plane together? Already, she was leaning over his desk to show him something on her phone.  


“Look at this new YouTube video. It’s a total sensation.” Unfortunately the bracelet did not prevent her from haunting YouTube, facebook, twitter, instagram, or anywhere she could possibly find the most obnoxious images and videos known to man.  


“I’m not interested.”  


“Really? You should be. She’s totally hot.”  


Agent Ward perked up slightly. “Is she?”  


“Ha! I knew it! You men are all the same.”  


“Says the woman who just tried to entice me with some woman’s attractiveness.”  


Skye looked triumphant. “I never said she was attractive. I said she was hot! As in: on fire.”  


Grant put his head in his hands. “What do you want, Skye? I have a report to write up about last night that Agent Coulson is not going to be happy to read, and I certainly don’t want to write, so if you have something important to say, would you say it now and go away?”  


“Oh, well, if you’re going to be like that, I’ll keep this latte for myself,” Skye huffed, and yet still put down the paper cup. “Come on, what could be so bad that Phil would get angry at you? I mean, he is very laid back for a man constantly saving the world.”  


“I may have implied his daughter dressed like a whore.”  


“‘Implied?’” Skye quoted back at him, eyebrows up.  


“All right, I said she was dressed like a whore. She was trashy!”  


“Wow, that is stupid of you,” she told him candidly. Then she began to look puzzled. “Agent Coulson has a daughter?”  


Grant sighed and picked up his pen to continue writing down his shameful behavior. “Yeah, she works at some Goth club. ‘Dark of the Moon,’ I think it was.”  


Skye trembled like an excited terrier. “Oh my God! Oh. My. Actual. God. Is she the girl who debuted last night? Well, not her actual debut, debut, but, like, had six songs?”  


“Uh, yes?” Grant ventured, not certain he liked where this was going.  


With an overloud squeal, Skye held up her phone. “OMG, I totally saw her on YouTube. I wanted to go, but I was super busy last night. Like, crazy busy helping FitzSimmons with the new delivery- thing which you are not interested in at all, got it. Anyway, my friend Elsa- well, she’s not really my friend, friend, more like an internet friend- Elsa went and she recorded it very nicely for the owner. And now the videos are on YouTube. Oh, she sounds amazing! And she looked super cute! I mean, kitten cute. How could you call that dressing like a whore? Look at it! It’s totally adorable!”  


Leaning back in his chair, Grant tried to avoid having Skye’s phone mashed into his face. “Did you have a triple shot?”  


“No! Don’t be silly. All that coffee could kill me. I had Red Bull.”  


“Seriously? Red Bull is-”  


“Don’t try to change the subject, super spy!” Once again, Skye had her phone in his face. “Look at her. Isn’t she sweet? It’s called Lolita Goth, by the way. You know, I bet she would look cute with some bandages too. Some girls have all the luck.”  


“Envying someone, Skye?” Agent Ward slumped slightly in his seat when he saw Agent Coulson, but for now his boss was completely focused on Skye.  


“Oh, yeah! Big time. Look at her: she’s adorable.” Skye paused, the caffeine or god-alone-knew-what causing her brain to need to play catch up with her mouth. “But I guess you already knew that.”  


For a moment, Agent Coulson looked slightly pained, but then his face smoothed again into its normal blandness. “Yes, I do. But it’s a nice dress. Cute lace.”  


“It is!” Skye agreed. “And her little garter is darling! Agent Ward thought she looked trashy!”  


Now Agent Coulson’s eyes were fixed on the specialist with a vengeance. “Have you finished your report, Agent Ward?”  


Grant cleared his throat. “Almost, sir.”  


“Good. I want to see you in my office in ten minutes. And, Skye? Lay off the Red Bull.”  


“Yes sir.” Skye said meekly. Agent Coulson turned to head up to his office and then paused.  


“Did you see the show, Skye?”  


“Nope. I was working on a new delivery system for that spyware with Fitz and Simmons. And I don’t really have the money for the cover.”  


“That won’t be a problem Tuesday night, I think,” Phil said prophetically. “Take FitzSimmons with you. Oh, and wear something appropriate, Skye.”  


Skye could have vibrated right through the floor, much like a jackhammer. “Yes, sir!”  


“Have fun, then.” Phil held up a finger. “But not too much fun.”  


“You got it.”  


When their boss had shut his door, Skye just about hit the roof. “OMG, Grant, I get to go to Dark of the Moon. Me! I mean, I haven’t been to the clubs since before I could legally drink.”  


“I don’t like the sound of that,” Grant said, trying to head her off. Weird that she was so into this.  


“No, no. It was always juice bars. Foster mom would’ve killed me. More than she used for the way I dressed- oh, I wonder if Jemma has anything good in her closet?”  


“Why don’t you go ask her?” And leave me alone, he added in the privacy of his own head. Of course Skye would turn out to be a closet Goth. She liked playing dress-up. Her and every other five year old.  


Finally, the bubbling groupie left to accost Jemma and Leo. That meant that Grant could focus on his report. It also meant that he could see very starkly how damn stupid he had been the night before. Why had he let his mouth run on like that? What she did with her body was not his business. He had been cranky because she had ducked him for hours, there had been that creepy transvestite and then she had the nerve to give him attitude. Clearly he had not been using his head for more than decoration. Very shortly, he could foresee a thorough dressing down, and worse, a well-deserved one.  


As soon as his ten minutes were up, Agent Ward made his way up the steps to Agent Coulson’s office. Even though he was reluctant, he did not want to be seen as a coward. Besides, Agent Coulson was known for being a nice boss. Aside from that whole truth serum thing. And that time when- no, that was not helpful thinking.  


When he poked his head in, his boss was apparently reading a magazine. It was entitled, or more properly emblazoned, “Gothic Lolita Bible,” and appeared to be some sort of Japanese Manga. Heart sinking, Agent Ward suspected he was in for a fashion lesson.  


“Report finished?” Coulson asked from behind the hefty publication.  
“Yes sir.”  


“Put it in the recycling, then. I don’t care about what you wrote. Just tell me how you screwed up such a simple assignment.” Abruptly, Agent Coulson slammed down the magazine. “It isn’t like you to mess up so badly, Agent Ward. Not since Skye. So, what made this so personal that you decided to verbally attack my daughter, whom you were supposed to be warning? You exposed yourself as a threat to an outsider, as well. Now you are banned from the club where she works, along with Agent May who was with you outside and recognized. This means neither of you can even try to enter without being immediately spotted. What the hell were you thinking?”  


“It won’t happen again, sir.”  


“Of course it won’t. And do you know why?”  


“You’re assigning Agent May to the case?” Agent Ward guessed.  


Coulson shook his head. “No such luck, Ward. I am assigning Skye to infiltrate her circle since she has a certain skill, but you are in no way off the hook. You get to keep an eye on Phillipa and protect her, while staying out of sight, since you have prejudiced her and her friends against you. Congratulations, you have just made your job twice as difficult. Now get out.”  


As he left the tiny room, Agent Ward metaphorically licked his wounds. He had to hand it to his boss: no one else could so calmly tear him a new one, while also being completely correct. It was both terrifying and strangely reassuring. At the very least, Grant would never put a toe out of line without finding out about it.  


Possibly the worst part of the situation was that his boss was absolutely correct. Now Agent Ward would have to be stealthy and well out of sight. It had been beyond stupid to approach the girl in that fashion, and equally stupid to attempt to rebuke her for her lifestyle. She, like her father, looked fragile but was made of steel in reality. For the moment, Grant was going to count his blessings, because Agent Coulson could have ripped his face off. Most other fathers would have done so.  


Instead of dwelling on the possibility that Agent Coulson was only waiting for the right moment to exact paternal revenge, Grant buried himself in his work. He would need to completely re-plan their surveillance strategy. There would also need to be a way to keep in touch with Skye in case one of that girl’s crazy friends began to be suspicious.  


Knuckle deep in various evacuation plans for Skye, Agent Ward almost missed Melinda May standing right in front of him. When he looked up, all she said was,  


“It’s time.”  


A glance at the clock confirmed that it was already past eleven. He grabbed his jacket and stood up. “Right. I’m coming.”  


Today would be no problem, at least. There were over a dozen places to watch without being seen. Besides, there were a few people Grant wanted to catch up with where they were going.


	8. Sunny

The sun had decided to make an appearance with a vengeance. Everything seemed over-bright and starkly defined. That might have been due to her lack of sunglasses. Or, more likely, it was because of Phillipa’s mood. She could hardly believe she was here at last. How many years had led up to this moment?  


She was putting it off again. Well, she had been for weeks, since the form letter had arrived from the cemetery, letting her know that her father had been interred and inviting her to make an appointment for a first viewing. Why it had taken that long to get notice, she had no idea. Maybe it had been following her all this time. But all of her own dodging was in no way good enough to prevent Lexi from plucking it out of her bag, and Jessica from handing over her cell phone with the other end already ringing. It was not always nice to have friends, especially those who saw too deep.  


Now she was here, waiting to see the grave of the man she had longed to believe would someday come home to her, releasing all the chains of her past and making everything right with the world. Fathers were magical- at least inside of her childish heart. Her mind knew better, scolding that this would open wounds best left ignored and would change absolutely nothing about her current situation, unless she counted the fact that she was almost content. Why did she want-  


“You want company?” asked her driver, jolting her into action.  


“No, I’ll- um- I’ll be fine.” She hustled herself out of the car, managing not to drop anything. “Um, you could go. . .”  


Pietro flashed her a brilliant grin. “No can do. Domino was very clear about that. I’ll park over there in the shade and keep watch. And if you take too long, I’ll come and get you.”  


Phillipa could hardly help asking, “But what if that guy comes from the other way?”  


Laughing, the silver-haired young man replied, “Don’t worry; I’m fast.”  


As she could not dispute that yet, Phillipa had to let it slide. Jessica had assured her that Pietro was on the right side of the law, as far as a member of the Brotherhood could be, and he was her only chance at a ride. Plus, he would be keeping an eye out for that weirdo who had announced himself totally against everything Phillipa had to do for a living. Like he knew anything about it! Too bad he was such a clean cut fellow, which made it hard to spot right away what a total asshole he really was.  


But thinking about him was just more stalling. Right now, she had to face her real concern. Gripping her brown paper bag tightly, she made herself walk to the visitor’s center. Before she even got to the door, a man wearing the keys that suggested he owned the place, and a few more besides, stepped out to meet her.  


“Miss Coulson?” the elderly gentleman asked.  


“Yes,” she answered faintly.  


“It’s right out this way. Good time for it, too. Later on, it’s going to be crowded. The holiday, you understand.”  


He kept on chattering, mostly to himself, as they walked along the road. Somewhere over her head floated observations about trees and cremation and a new memorial proposal, but she hardly grasped any of them. Despite the heat and humidity, she was chilled and already lost.  


The man came to a halt and pointed. “There it is. Just over yonder.”  


“Thank you,” Phillipa managed.  


“Take your time, miss,” the groundskeeper urged kindly, but he was already fading from her focus.  


Still, she waited until he had turned away before moving ahead. This was too personal to be done in front of strangers. For a moment, she thought of simply leaving. She did not really need to do this. It changed nothing, argued her brain. Her dad was dead: stone cold, worms turning to compost, bones crumbling to dust, sixteen years gone, dead.  


Yet, when her feet moved, they stepped forward. Because it would change everything, whispered her heart. As the saying went, “seeing is believing,” and she needed to believe. It was the only thing left for her. Yes, it would gut her and leave her grieving once again, but when had she stopped? For the sake of that little girl who had stayed up for days at a time hoping for something that could never be, she had to go.


	9. Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist. . . Softie

Memorial Day was not usually a holiday for Tony Stark. Genius knew nothing of the calendar, nor the clock. Well, it did, but mostly to give them the proverbial finger.  


This morning, however, the meaning of the day had been brought home to him. Rogers had declined to have lunch with him. Since Stark rarely spent time being nice to Rogers, he had been somewhat offended. Of course, after snapping at him about making friends who knew what Bluetooth was, Stark had been justly rewarded.  


Rogers calmly dropped his bomb. “It’s Memorial Day, Stark. I’m going to visit Coulson’s grave.”  


Well, no way was the all-muscle-no-brain science experiment going to out-class Tony the-definition-of-class Stark. Besides, Stark did owe Agent Coulson. In spite of offering the olive branch, all of his ribbing had never been repaid with real kindness. It left an embarrassing suggestion of guilt in Stark’s memories of the agent.  


Which led to Stark sweltering in the ridiculous unseasonal heat, in a graveyard that was short on trees, but had clearly gone wholesale on the white crosses. He could have been at home in his air-conditioned workshop pretending to be doing something useful, or even in the pool, but no, he had to choose self-respect. It was as if he had forgotten how uncool- literally- being socially conscious was. Now he did remember, and he hated it.  


“The groundskeeper said it was over there, near the tree line,” Rogers said, apparently not at all hot. Yet another reason for Stark to dislike him.  


“I thought they didn’t believe in trees,” Stark wheezed. “I should have brought a parasol- started a new trend.”  


“You do realize that every cross out here represents a soldier who gave his life for your freedom.”  


“You do realize that if the zombie apocalypse started right now, we would be totally screwed.”  


“If the- if what started now?”  


Unfashionable or not, Stark fanned himself like a southern belle on uppers. “Never mind. We’ll watch Dawn of the Dead and then you’ll see. Where do you suppose Coulson is?”  


“Over there, I think,” Rogers answered quietly. “Near that lady.”  


“Nice spot,” Stark approved. “A place that has shade.”  


“Do you know how to be respectful?”  


“I know how to be awesome. That’s better and chicks dig it.”  


“You are disturbingly interested in baby animals.”  


“And you belong in a museum. Really. Buy yourself a dictionary or something.” Stark peered ahead. “You know what? I think that kid is sitting on Phil. And you think I’m disrespectful.”  


Thereby having reminded Rogers that flippant was not the same as disrespectful, Stark cut ahead of his teammate. Mostly it was to beat him to the shade. He was not sweating like a cheese. Also, he wanted to be the first to speak to the blatant rule-breaker. Stark liked rebels. They were interesting.  


“Excuse me, miss, but you seem to be occupying our friend,” he said as they approached, since he could now see the same on the cross: Phillip Coulson.  


Unfortunately, she turned out to be the single most silent and still weeper he had ever encountered. Not that this fact made the sight any prettier. Red eyes and puffy faces were not attractive- except to a select perverted few.  


“Here,” Rogers said, offering a spotless white handkerchief. “Sorry about him. He doesn’t seem capable of proper behavior.”  


“Thank you,” the girl replied rather damply. Something about her was bothering Stark, but he could not place it.  


“Yes, thank you,” repeated Stark irritably. He most certainly was capable. It was just boring.  


“Did you know Phil?” Rogers asked, pointedly ignoring Stark. He was going to pay for that later.  


The girl gave a wobbly smile. “Yeah. He was my dad.”  


Stark did not burst out, “Phil reproduced? With what?” because that would count as rude rather than witty. Besides, the revelation settled his mind: she looked stunningly like Phil. If he pictured Phil as a woman- Why had he done that? Now he would never get the image out of his head. He foresaw nightmares in his future.  


Instead, he settled for, “He never told us that he had a kid. I call that rude. In fact, I feel completely slighted.”  


Rogers saw fit to remind him, “We didn’t know him very long.”  


“I knew him for three years. He used to override my security system for fun.”  


“He did?” the girl asked, a little less damp now.  


“Well, there might have been some actual need to talk to me. But he seemed to get a kick out of it.”  


She smiled- not the bland smile Phil had so often had- but an honest one. “That sounds like him. He used to color our milk and tell me it came from colored cows.”  


“Did those cows come from other planets?”  


“That’s right. How did you know?”  


Stark winked. “It’s the logical progression of the argument.”  


Since she was not getting up, Stark decided to take a seat. Shade was shade. Even Rogers sat after asking her permission. Show off.  


“So, as you know, I’m Tony Stark. This is Steve Rogers. I probably can’t call you ‘spawn of Phil,’ so go ahead and tell us your name.”  


“It’s Phillipa, actually. Phillipa Anne Coulson.”  


Gleefully, Stark declared, “I shall call you. . . ‘Mini-Phil.’ “  


The others looked at him blankly. They even exchanged glances to suggest Stark was completely round the bend crazy. Then Phillipa said, “Well, if you want to, I guess that’s okay.”  


“Oh, come on, that’s a classic even for your generation. You’re what? Twenty?”  


“Twenty-two,” she corrected. “That was a Mike Meyers reference, wasn’t it?”  


“Austin Powers,” Stark confirmed.  


She shrugged. “I never saw it. It was such a boy film.”  


“Would you watch it if you happened to catch it on TV?”  


“No. I think I would be uncomfortable with the humor, even if I did laugh.”  


After some thought, Stark told the girl, “I like you. No, I really do. You know what you don’t like and don’t compromise. That’s pretty cool.”  


Again, Phillipa shrugged her shoulders. “My dad always said that if I didn’t like something, I didn’t have to watch it. And he said it was fine not to like what other people did. Well, actually, he said I didn’t have to like troll dolls just because every other kid had one.”  


“Those things were creepy, weren’t they?”  


“Furbys were one thousand times creepier,” Phillipa pointed out and Stark had to agree.  


“You always wondered if they were secretly plotting your murder- and how to make it seem like suicide. They wanted me to buy in, but one look at those things and I decided I would stick to AI that only sounded like it was going to kill me.”  


She smiled at that. Most people would have laughed, Stark thought. It was as if she was holding herself back, not wanting to enjoy the moment too much. In that, Phillipa was a lot like her father. But there was still some hint of recognition that was nagging at him for some reason. Hopefully if they talked long enough, he could get a grip on what it was.  


So far, it was an awkward conversation. But she seemed to need the formulaic humor. Besides, Stark was extremely funny all the time. Even he needed a break once in a while. If it meant he eventually got some dirt on Phil, he could handle middle school jokes.  


“So, what’s with the contraband?” he asked, turning the subject to something even the old man could follow. Well, as well as Steve followed anything.  


“Oh, it’s-” She turned red, amazingly so. “I know I can’t leave them here, but I thought my father would like to see them- um, well. . . they were his favorite, you see.”  


Probably it was his own stunning good looks that made her fumble with the paper bag. Rogers spoiled the show by reaching over to help her out. The contents were revealed as-  


“Tiny pansies,” Stark diagnosed, trying to find them exciting.  


“Heartsease,” Phillipa corrected. “It’s the wildflower that became pansies. My grandmother had a field of them in her backyard. That’s where my father used to play, she said. I tried to grow some, but- things aren’t always easy.”  


Mildly surprised, Stark eyed the purple and white blossoms in their black plastic container. He could hardly picture Phil as the kind of guy who was into flowers. Yet, he could almost see a little boy on his belly watching the wind moving through a field of purple on a sunny afternoon.  


He was not too caught up in the image to notice that she had suddenly clammed up. There was something about those blooms she had failed to grow that she did not want to mention. That was fine. Stark had plenty of other questions to put forward. He was a curious guy.  


“So, Mini-Phil, where do you live? Still at home with your mom?”  


“My mother is dead,” she said, starting out calm, but her voice cracked over the word ‘dead.’  


“Oh, sorry,” and Stark was honest enough to wince.  


“No, I’m sorry. It’s been six years, but-” she sighed. “I guess I won’t ever forget how it felt.”  


Rogers was all sympathy. “It will get easier. I lost my mom to TB, but I still think she’ll be there when I get out of bed every morning, yelling about how late I’ll be if I don’t hurry.”  


“Was your mom ill?” Stark asked. He decided to see how quickly he could work out the cause. The slow pace of the conversation was killing him. Metaphorically. Also, he might have watched a House marathon all day yesterday. Without Pepper to distract him- no, bad thought path.  


Hesitant, Phillipa answered slowly. “No-”  


“Accident, then?”  


“No, but-”  


Stark shook his head incredulously as he made the next leap in deduction. “Murdered? Wow.”  


“It wasn’t that!” Phillipa snapped. As Stark stared- he never would have suspected someone so mousy could cut anyone off- she closed her eyes and told him, “She killed herself.”  


“Jesus,” he breathed, but she carried on, determined to lay it all out rather than let his genius intellect deduce it- which was the way it should have been in the first place, he realized now.  


“She hung herself in our entryway. I would have been there in time, but I missed my bus. I needed something from my locker, so I went back for it and the bus didn’t wait. It was the stupidest thing, but she died because of it. I should have been there and I wasn’t.”  


“You didn’t know-” Stark began feebly, in an effort to atone for his earlier callousness.  


“I did know! Not exactly when, but that she could. . . and would.” Phillipa kept her eyes fixed on the flowers, as if she was talking to them and not Stark and Rogers. “After my father left, she couldn’t keep it together. She drank. Some days she crawled into the bottle before I even left for school. Sometimes she’d been in it since the day before. And she just couldn’t give it up.  


“Sometimes, she would throw all the bottles away and apologize. Then we’d go on a long drive to someplace fun. And on those days, I knew she still loved me. We’d do anything we wanted. Nothing could stop us, especially not laws or propriety. It could last for weeks. But it always came to an end.  


“And that was when she’d get angry. The booze would come back. Everything would be all wrong, especially me. She’d hit me, or throw bottles at me. But I still loved her. Like she couldn’t stop drinking, I couldn’t stop loving her.”  


If Stark could have stopped her, he would have. He did not need to hear this. But it was as if he had pulled out the plug that held back all her emotions and there was no going back. She probably did not know that she was crying while she spoke. When he had been digging for dirt on Phil, he had had no idea what he would uncover. So much for his genius intellect. Where the hell had Phil been while this was happening?  


“That wasn’t the worst time, though,” Phillipa continued, with Rogers’ reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t even the worst when she was so low that she cried all day and all night. I could handle her hating me, or telling me I ought to be somewhere else. In a way, it meant she still cared.  


“But sometimes she stopped caring about anything. It went beyond apathy. She couldn’t even speak. And that was when she would try to kill herself. Usually it was pills. A handful of Xanax, or Diazepam, washed down with a shot of something. Then she tried to slit her wrists in the bath. Once, she even jumped off our roof. All that did was ruin our neighbors’ gardenia. And that made her laugh, so suddenly everything was better again. It never seemed to last, though.  


“She was sick, but it was something in her head, where not even pills could reach. She used to take me to the doctor and tell him I was anxious all the time- which I was- but the drugs were really for her, not me. No one would give her anything after her third overdose, even though she was sure something would make her better.  


“She was wrong about that. The day I came home to find her hanging in our front hall, she had been taking Xanax every day for a month. They say I called 911 before I collapsed, but there was nothing that could have been done by then.”  


“Jesus,” Stark repeated dumbly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”  


Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, since the handkerchief was totally soaked, Phillipa replied, “No, I’m not mad. It’s kind of a relief to spill all that to someone who isn’t going to force meds on me, or diagnose me to make his depression quota.”  


“You know, if you want someone to talk to, you can count on us,” Rogers told her. “It must be hard, without your father.”  


“He’s been gone a long time, but it is harder, knowing I can’t even ask him for a hug,” she sighed.  


“I don’t know that you could call it a long time,” Stark commented.  


“What?”  


Before he could put his foot in it again, Rogers shot him a warning glare and then asked the girl, “How old were you when your father died, Phillipa?”  


“Almost six.”  


“I admit, that’s younger than I thought,” Rogers said, amazingly calm in the face of this revelation. “It’s been a while, so I guess even I’ve forgotten how long it’s been. How did you find out?”  


Sighing again, Phillipa explained, “My father’s partner came to tell my mother, and then she told me. It seemed so impossible to me at the time. My dad was- well, invincible, I guess. I mean- a car accident? He was such a careful driver. We used to go for rides in his blue Thunderbird every weekend.”  


“Blue? That’s not the usual color for T-Birds,” Stark noted. Her cautious smile was back.  


“He had it painted blue and white for me. It was my favorite color.”  


“Is it pink now?” Stark asked, absolutely relieved to change the subject. He pointed to her sundress, which was white with pink striping. She glanced down at it and flushed.  


“No, this is- my group mother gave it to me when I got a job.”  


“Ah, yes. How do you earn your slave wages?”  


“I’m a waitress at-” she started, but got no further because Stark immediately knew.  


“Dark of the Moon!” he said gleefully. “I knew I had seen you somewhere. You made a sensation last night. Are you gracing us with your voice tonight as well?”  


Once more, Phillipa was turning red. “No. I don’t work until tomorrow, and I’ll only do maybe two songs. I’m on the floor, really.”  


“On the floor, or on stage, I’ll be coming to see you. Him too.” Stark indicated Rogers happily.  


“If you want us to,” added the philistine.  


“Oh! Um. . . Well, I mean- I don’t. . . mind, exactly. It is my job, so-”  


“So it’s settled! You can tell Jay that Tony Stark is going to drop by with his friends. Trust me, he’ll be tickled!”  


“He usually is,” muttered Phillipa gloomily.  


“True enough. He’s a happy guy- unlike Mr. Crank over here.”  


“Very funny,” Rogers said, proving Stark’s point beautifully. “As I’ve told you before, not everything is a joke.”  


“It should be. Everything would be more fun.”  


“I don’t know that it would be,” said Phillipa doubtfully.  


Stark grinned. “Trust me.”  


At that moment, his cell phone alarm went off. That was one meeting he was not going to attend. Fortunately, he had already told the inestimable Ms. Potts that he was busy. Yowch, he was not ready to think about her that way again.  


“Oh, what time is it? My ride has a thing at two.”  


Stark raised an eyebrow. “A thing? How precise. It’s one.”  


“Then I had better go. I don’t want to make him late.”  


Interesting phrasing, Stark thought as she stood up. Rogers, of course, stood up with her. The man ought to be wearing a top hat and tails, by god. She gave them her number when Rogers asked, but warned that it was only a landline. She must be the only person in New York City without a cell. Hesitantly, she looked back down at the flowers.  


“I know they’ll just throw them away,” she said sadly, “but I just want to leave them here with Dad.”  


Rogers gave her a charming smile. “It’s okay. You can leave them. I’m sure your dad appreciates them.”  


To Stark’s dumbfounded amazement, she actually hugged the caveman. Then she hugged him too. She slipped away, calling her goodbye before breaking into a run for the visitor’s center parking lot.  


“That’s a fair turn of speed for drugstore sandals,” Stark noted to take his mind off of pretty much everything she had told them in the last forty-five minutes.  


“If you could be serious for a minute?” Rogers asked. “Her ride is over there, so why has that man been watching her this whole time?”  


Stark’s head whipped around. Just as the old man had said, some guy in a suit was one hundred yards away, gaze apparently locked on Phillipa. The thug was even wearing shades like he was some kind of agent. . .  


“Oh, this is too rich. If you would tackle that guy before he can escape? I definitely have some questions for our stalker.”  


With a grace that all-star linebackers would envy, Rogers went from standing still to a flat-out run. Stark jogged along after him. His suit was on its way, and it was always good to be slightly late to any party, in case of emergencies.  


Therefore, he had his blaster ready by the time he arrived on the scene. The Asian woman who popped up with a gun to surprise Rogers received a shock of her own. Since no one else appeared to complicate matters, Stark decided not to call for further back-up.  


“Okay. Let’s make this quick. Why are you following that young woman? And keep the bullshit to a minimum, because I haven’t had my lunch yet. As we all know, low blood sugar makes people tetchy.”  


“You can’t do this,” sputtered the man Rogers was holding down with one hand.  


“Uh, we are already doing it. Try again, lowlife.” Stark added more kindly, “Incidentally, that is the worst tie for that blazer.”  


“What?” began the stalker, but the woman cut in calmly,  


“We are from SHIELD.”  


Stark rolled his eyes inside his suit. “Yes, and I’m Dorothy, looking for a house to drop on someone with a remarkably similar shoe size. Anything else you’d like to claim? The winning Powerball ticket, for example?”  


“Stark,” Rogers said warningly. He held up a black wallet that he had pulled from the man’s jacket pocket. There was the recognizable shield eagle badge, as well as the man’s picture on a standard ID.  


“Damn. I guess we’ll let you up, then.”  


“Thank you,” grumbled the agent as Rogers let him stand.  


“All the same, why are you following Phillipa?” Rogers demanded.  


“That’s classified,” huffed the agent indignantly.  


“Right, of course.” Stark pulled out his cell- more for show, since the suit could call anyone he wanted. “I’ll just give our friend Nick a ring. I’m sure the director will be happy to interrupt all his important work to tell me what you two peons are doing.”  


That got the gears turning. Seeming to gulp, the man changed his tone. “Look, we’re just keeping an eye on her. She needs looking after.”  


“Oh, well, if that’s the case,” Stark said cheerfully. Then he punched the guy so hard that he actually fell over. “Maybe you guys should have thought of that before you faked Coulson’s death and left her alone with a complete wreck of a mother. Huh?”  


“Stark!” Rogers snapped. “You’re in armor!”  


“I suppose that wasn’t entirely fair,” he conceded. “How about you have a go, then?”  


“That would be wrong,” the woman pointed out, still as cool as ice. Her partner was on his back, rubbing at his jaw as he spoke. Stark considered it all for show; he had not hit him that hard. Just enough to send a message up top: he was not happy to find out about Phillipa.  


Apparently Rogers was not happy either. He turned to the woman, shoulders squared and chin drawn in mulishly. This was going to be good. Too bad Stark was short on popcorn.  


“As wrong as a little girl being robbed of her father? As wrong as a little girl being beaten by her own mother?” Rogers was so angry, he actually made her back up into a tree. “How much worse than finding her mother hanging dead in her hallway would it be? She must have suffered every single day, and I would lay bets that she still does. SHIELD took everything she needed, so explain. Now!”  


“Coulson had to leave,” gasped the prone agent, trying to push himself up. “People found out he had a family, the kind of people who would consider it a bonus to rub out an agent’s little girl. Do you get it? He had to fake his death, so his enemies would forget about her.”  


“And did they?” Stark countered. “Coulson is dead, and yet, here you two are, telling us Phillipa still needs watching. Sounds like someone hasn’t forgotten her.”  


“It could be nothing. We had a flag and we’re checking it out. No one has bothered her since Coulson left.”  


“If you don’t count her mother,” Stark reminded him, giving the agent a hand up.  


“You should tell her, if you have a concern. Stalking her isn’t going to make her trust you,” Rogers pointed out.  


“She wouldn’t listen.”  


“I can understand that, with your tie. Even I’m having trouble.”  


“What are you talking about?”  


“Listen, you can’t wear a navy blue tie with black. That’s as good as telling a woman you’re also wearing brown socks. Pro-tip, my friend.”  


Rogers helpfully noted, “And you are wearing brown socks.”  


“Exactly.”  


“You punched me in the face and now you’re giving me fashion advice?”  


“You should listen,” said a new voice. Stark turned to see agents Blake and Sitwell standing nonchalantly a few yards away.  


“It is a terrible tie,” Blake agreed with his partner.  


“Did you see him punch me?” demanded the fashion-challenged agent.  


Shrugging, Sitwell told him, “Better you than us. Besides, Mr. Stark clearly needed to hit someone.”  


“Thank you,” Stark said. It was nice to be understood.  


“You only get one freebie,” Blake reminded him, wagging a finger.  


The new arrivals took the edge off of the situation. They knew how to handle him, and Stark let them. They also moved to take the other agents away, under the guise of ‘business.’ Although he would have preferred them to stay and do some more explaining- Sitwell had been Coulson’s partner, surely he knew more than a little about this- Stark had just thought of something more important.  


He had the suit dial Rhodes. While Rogers glared after the agents/stalkers, Stark decided to cash in some favors. It was more polite to ask for one at a time, but he was not one to follow convention, and no one knew that better than Rhodes.  


“Rhodey! How are you? Actually, don’t answer that yet. I need a few favors. You remember Agent Coulson? Yes, I know he’s dead- just listen for a second. I need whatever you can dig up on his daughter, Phillipa Coulson. No, I don’t know how to spell Phillipa. I imagine it’s Phillipa with an ‘a.’ Hmm? No, you really will do it. Why? Two words, my friend: Asian hookers.”  


Stark allowed his buddy to rant and rave for a bit. Then he beckoned Rogers over. While muting his mic, he asked,  


“What was the name of Mini-Phil’s stalker? The one with the god-awful socks?”  


“Grant Ward. What are you-”  


Holding up a hand to silence the big lug, Stark returned his attention to Rhodes. “Yes, yes, it was embarrassing, wasn’t it? I know I had a good time. Now, I need another favor. Remember, I said a few? I need what you can get on a Grant Ward. Agent of SHIELD, like Phil.”  


Again, Rhodey had to whine for a bit. Stark let him. He still had one more favor to ask, after all.  


Signalling to Rogers, he started back towards Coulson’s grave. Fortunately, the groundskeeper had not been by while they were playing full-contact football with the SHIELD agents. Phillipa’s flowers were right where she had left them.  


“All right, Rhodey, ready for the big favor? I need permission to plant something on Long Island.” Amused, Stark listened to his friend complaining fervently. “It has to be you. Because they are going to be in Long Island National Cemetery, that’s why. Yes, I know it’s against the rules. I did read them before I decided to break them. Well, why do you think I’m asking the favor? Yeah, I’m not going anywhere until someone says yes, so call me back.”  


Rogers was watching him, with a cocky half smile on his face. “I thought you were a big tough guy.”  


“Shut up.”  


“Softie.”  


“I’m sure I spoke. Shut up or I won’t buy you a late lunch. Or introduce you to this very cute young lady I met. . .”


	10. Home Again

Phillipa closed the door to her bedroom and sighed. Even after counting up her tips, she was going to cut it close on her rent, again. Of course, it would help if Karen ever paid her share of the utilities. However, Karen was a spoiled-little-rich-girl, if ever there was one. She had no job, but had an Apple laptop and an iPhone. She even had a car, or would have one, if she ever managed to park it legally. At the end of the month, she would go and complain to her parents about the difficulty of getting a job in the current economic climate, and then she would have her share of the rent, with hardly a simper.  


It would have been embarrassing, except that Phillipa had fallen for it too, several times. Everyone did, sooner or later. Most guys fell into bed with Karen as easily as she gave them one of her sidelong glances, lashes lowered and a naughty smile on her face. Girls found themselves doing endless favors to gain insight into how Karen caught all those men. Eventually, people would snap out of it, but it was hard to come to terms with how duped they had been. There was good reason why Phillipa had broken up with four of Karen’s boyfriends thus far. She would rather ruin their second date than let them go along believing they were in an honest relationship.  


Not that- and this was the worst bit, in so many ways- Karen meant to be a tramp. She often believed for the better part of two days that she was in love, or had found “the one.” The one what, Phillipa was never sure, but she did know that by day three, Karen would be done.  


Tossing her bag onto the three legged chair that still wobbled, in spite of all the gum and cardboard underneath the feet, Phillipa let herself fall gracelessly onto her bed. It was possibly the worst bed known to mankind, but she could still sleep on it, and a new mattress alone was one hundred dollars she did not have. Rather than dwell on that, she shifted around until some semblance of softness was underneath her and looked up at her walls.  


Years ago, she had made a tiny shrine to her father. A shrinelet, really, on poster-board. She only had three pictures of him, so most of what was there were memories she had written up as best she could at nine years old, when she had finally understood he was never coming home again. She had never updated them, afraid that she would remember details that never were. The best picture was on the tiny table next to her bed, mostly hidden by her clock.  


Except that, Phillipa realized, it was not hidden by the clock. Someone had moved it. Hair rising eerily on the back of her neck, Phillipa sat up on her bed and looked around.  


After a careful survey, Phillipa concluded that someone had moved the chair too. Her closet door was left open, which she never did, because of the clutter. Aside from the picture of her father on the nightstand, the pictures on the poster-board were also slightly tilted, revealing the whiter paper beneath the edges.  


“Karen!” she shouted.  


“Wow, I’m right here, Phil. Right in the bathroom.”  


“Did you move things in my room?” Phillipa demanded, bouncing off the bed and into the doorway to glare at her roommate.  


“Um. . . if I said yes, and with someone else, would you be mad?”  


“Who else?” asked Phillipa grimly, folding her arms.  


“Well. . . That guy, Fred. You know, from down the hall?” Obviously seeing the fury on Phillipa’s face, Karen hastily tried to justify this violation of her space. “He has the same room as you in his apartment, and he just wanted to see if yours was the same, or you had a bigger closet or something. You know, because we pay a little more than he does?”  


“Karen,” Phillipa said, in as calm a tone as she could muster, “He touched my stuff.”  


The blonde tilted her head, clearly puzzled. “Well, yeah. I mean, he was looking at your closet, and then he saw the picture of your dad and he asked, so I told him your dad died when you were little. And about your little poster.”  


“He touched my stuff,” Phillipa repeated. “And you didn’t stop him.”  


“No. Geez, it’s just stuff, Phil.”  


Phillipa exploded, “It’s not your stuff! It’s not his stuff! You shouldn’t touch it, you shouldn’t let other people touch it and you damn well should have asked me if he could go into my room!”  


“But Phil-”  


“Don’t you “but Phil” me, and don’t act all innocent! This is my space, and you invaded it like the Spanish invaded South America! I don’t go in your room and touch your things!”  


“You never go in my room,” Karen pointed out, as though this made a difference.  


“You’re damn right I don’t! Know why? Because it’s your fucking room! Yours; not mine! Could I get a little respect here? A little privacy, maybe?”  


“Seriously, you need to calm down.” Karen put her hands up. “He was just poking around, is all. It’s not like I even mentioned that he followed you-”  


“He what?”  


“Well, he saw those guys in suits, and he was worried. And then he said someone was hassling you at work-”  


“Oh my god, Karen, we have a stalker in the building and you let him in my room.” Phillipa pushed past the blonde to head for the phone. “I don’t suppose you paid your half of the phone bill, did you?”  


“Oh well, I was going to, but-”  


“Yes, yes, cute shoes at the mall or whatever. It’s a good thing I pay the bills, isn’t it?” Even after infusing as much dark sarcasm into her voice as possible, Phillipa still wondered if she ever got through to Karen. It was as if the blonde was thicker than teak, in spite of all the “experience” she had.  


“Who are you calling?” Karen demanded. For the moment, Phillipa ignored her and dialed. Paranoia or no, she was not going to risk a new problem getting the better of her because she had ignored it. Again.  


In response to her silent prayer, Jessica answered on the second ring. “Hello?”  


“Hi, it’s Phillipa. Jessica, I have another stalker.”  


“What? Wait. Before you explain, tell me if you’re okay.”  


“Yes. I mean- I’m home with Karen and we’re both safe. I don’t know if I’m okay.” Phillipa ran her fingers through her hair, feeling herself coming apart. “Can you come over? I know you’re busy-”  


“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. And Pietro should be over any minute. He forgot to give you something and when I shouted at him about it, he turned around. Now, who is the new creep?”  


“His name is Fred Myers. He moved in a few days ago. I mean, he’s just down the hall. But he was at Dark of the Moon yesterday, even though I didn’t see him, he knew all about that other guy.”  


“That’s unusual,” and Phillipa could hear a car door slam. “None of the girls working last night would have told him, and neither would Jay. It’s bad for business. I’m switching you to speaker, okay?”  


“Okay,” Phillipa said quietly.  


“There. What else did Fred do?”  


“Today, he came over while I was out and convinced Karen to let him look at my room.”  


“Why am I not surprised? Did he take anything?”  


“Not that I know of. But Jessica, he knows about my dad. She told him everything.”  


Karen burst out, “You are being so ridiculous! So he looked in your closet. So he wanted to know everything about you! So he probably wants to fuck you! What’s wrong with that?”  


“Everything,” Jessica said to Phillipa. “That is not normal behavior. Thank god you don’t plaster yourself all over the internet, so he can’t find anything on there. I bet Pietro will be knocking on your door before I am. Tell him I said he needs to stay with you, understand?”  


“Yes.”  


“Good. Now put stereotypical-blonde-moron on the phone. I have a few choice words for her.”  


Wordless, Phillipa passed the handset to Karen. As the blonde started defending her actions, there was a knock at the door. The peephole revealed the promised Pietro. She removed the chain and let him in.  


“Hey, Phillipa. Wow, this is a tiny place. Christian charity doesn’t apply to the apartments, eh?” He looked at her face, and then corrected, “Um, I mean- it’s cozy.”  


“You meant tiny,” she corrected, trying to smile. “It is.”  


“You don’t have to be such a bitch about it!” Karen shouted at the phone. “You’re no fucking saint!”  


Eyes wide, Pietro suggested, “I can come back later.”  


“No! I mean, um, Jessica said you need to wait here until she comes.”  


Pietro gave her an once-over. “What’s going on? You’re shaking.”  


Before Phillipa could answer, Karen butted in, slamming the handset back in its cradle for emphasis. “I let our neighbor have a tour and now she has gone totally wacko about it. The man wanted to know if you had a big closet!”  


“Is he gay?” Pietro asked calmly.  


“What? No! Not the way he eyes my tits.”  


“Then he wasn’t interested in her closet size. Unless he was buying the place with his wife, he has no reason to give a shit about closet space. Since Phillipa doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman to freak out over nothing, what else did he want to see?”  


Pouting, Karen admitted, “Well, he did look at the dresser and her pictures of her dad. But anybody would ask about those! You’ve got three of your dad and none of your mom and in all of them you’re a little kid. He was only curious!”  


“You let him rifle through your friend’s personal belongings and you told him stories that are no business of yours, let alone his,” Pietro said frostily. “If that man had brought out a knife and started dissecting you, would you say he was ‘only curious?’ ”  


“That is totally different!”  


“No it isn’t,” Phillipa snapped back. “He was fishing for personal information about me when I wasn’t here and you fell for it! A real curious person would ask me to my face, not sneak in while I was out to trick my roommate into letting him in my room! Jesus, Karen! He could have done anything knowing that you were here alone!”  


“But. He. Didn’t.”  


Shaking his head, Pietro remarked, “Then I’ll say goodbye now, because you are going to be dead before I see you again. A little caution goes a long way, you see.”  


Turning away from the blonde, Pietro held out a package to Phillipa. She should have noticed earlier, but she had been too wired to think about what he had in his hands. Surprised, she took the thin cardboard box. At his urging, she opened the side and reached inside. It seemed to be semi-opaque plastic fabric.  


Her bafflement seemed to amuse him. Taking the fabric from her, he shook it out. Then, by way of a hint, he said,  


“I heard about your couch.”  


Realizing it was a couch-cover, Phillipa had to laugh. This was exactly what she needed right now. Together, they wrestled it over the Couch of Defilement. As an unexpected bonus, when they sat down, it made an awful farting noise. Both of them gasped with laughter, bent double by the childish hilarity that gripped them. It was stupid, but strangely reassuring. Pietro was as nice a guy as Jessica had insisted, thank goodness.  


Back when Phillipa had first realized that Jessica was her friend, she had shyly offered her a spare key as a sign of trust. Jessica rarely used it, but she kept it prominently displayed on her leather wristband. Now, while Phillipa was nearly prostrate with laughter, Jessica let herself in. She gave the two of them a look as she latched the door behind her and put the chain back on.  


“What’s so funny?”  


“The couch farts,” Pietro told her.  


“It’s the gases of hell escaping,” Jessica deduced. “Careful how much brimstone you inhale.”  


“Too late,” he replied cheekily.  


“It’s always been too late for you, I think. Scoot over, little Phil.”  


“Sure,” Phillipa moved to the left so that Jessica could sit between them.  


“How are you holding up?” Jessica put her arm around Phillipa, which Phillipa could not have asked for. “What an awful day for this, just to start.”  


“Well-” Phillipa was hardly started before Jessica cut in.  


“When did you last eat?”  


“Uh. . . I. . . had breakfast?”  


“Today? I doubt it. Look at the way your hands are shaking. Pietro go downstairs and ask the ministry for a salad for Phillipa. They know how stupid she can be about regular meals.”  


But I have a salad in the fridge!” protested Phillipa feebly even as Pietro headed out the door.  


“Had,” Jessica corrected. “Karen’s been home long enough to let a total stranger paw through your stuff. Ergo, either she’s eaten the entire thing, or she threw it away with the comfortable excuse that it looked like it had been in there for weeks.”  


“Got your salad,” Pietro announced before Phillipa could formulate further arguments. She took the clear plastic container from him, slightly dazed. How had he gone there and back so quickly? Then it dawned on her.  


“Thank you. Speed is your talent, then?”  


“Domino said you were smart.” He winked flirtatiously. “She forgot to mention cute, as well.”  


“If you like your ears on your head, don’t try to flirt with little Phil,” threatened Jessica ominously.  


Hands up to show that he was defenseless, Pietro said, “Just kidding! What’s wrong with a little harmless flirting?”  


“You’ll make her uncomfortable.”  


“Oh, I should have guessed that you’re religious. I didn’t peg you as a believer in punishing the body to free the soul, though.”  


Phillipa shook her head. “I just live here. I haven’t been to church since my dad. . . Since he. . .”  


It was amazing how just the thought of him brought her to her knees. She missed him so badly. Although her head knew very well he would never return, her heart just would not accept it. On a day like today, emotions already in turmoil, remembering how they used to sit side by side in the pew with his hand holding hers evoked tears of longing. Nothing was harder than recalling how long he had been gone and feeling with painful certainty that she would never have him at her side again.  


“There, look. You made her cry,” Jessica grumbled. “Will you scram already? Phillipa Anne Coulson, you suck it up right now and eat that salad.”  


“Sorry.” Pietro said awkwardly. He might have wanted to say more for all Phillipa could tell, but Jessica interrupted irritably,  


“Are you still here?”  


“Nope.” As good as his word, he was gone. Only the rattle of the security chain betrayed his exit.  


As ordered, Phillipa pulled herself together enough to eat. She actually was hungry. Probably that explained why she could barely hold herself together. It certainly had nothing to do with the emotional roller coaster she had been on since last night, nor the fact that she was starting to actually trust people.  


“Oh no. Jessica I have done something totally stupid,” Phillipa admitted, setting aside the now-empty salad box.  


“Let me be the judge of that. You are far too hard on yourself,” her friend said firmly. “What did you do?”  


Embarrassed and more than a little ashamed, Phillipa outlined what had happened at the cemetery. Since when had she been so gullible? That man could never have been Tony Stark, millionaire playboy- he was barely funny. And the other guy was surely too young to have known her father. Clearly, Phillipa had let her emotions get the better of her. Even if, by the slimmest chance, they were who they claimed to be, neither of them would care past today. She knew that.  


However, Jessica only asked, “And how is that bad?”  


“But they- I mean-”  


“Who are you trying to fool?” pressed Jessica, but gently. “People do care about you, little Phil. And they do fall in love with you on sight. You are so sweet and vulnerable, they can’t help wanting to make you feel better.”  


“But-”  


“Shut it, worrywart. Actually, I am surprised at you.”  


Phillipa hung her head. “I know. It’s not like me to spill about my mother- Ow!”  


Sitting back, Jessica inspected Phillipa’s forehead. “I hope I don’t have to dent you to jump-start your brain. I am surprised because you didn’t recognize Steve Rogers. Your father’s idol?”  


Even though she knew she must look pretty stupid, Phillipa felt justified in letting her mouth hang open. “You mean I just met Captain America?”  


“The one and only!” laughed Jessica. “Boy, you should see your face!”  


When Phillipa simply kept on staring, Jessica reached over and chucked her under the chin. Obediently, Phillipa closed her mouth. All the same, she still felt like it was hanging slack. Had she really met the All-American hero of World War II?  


“Relax,” advised Jessica. “I’m sure your dad will forgive you for not getting an autograph. This time.”  


“What am I going to do, Jessica? They’re going to come to Dark of the Moon tomorrow!”  


“You’re going to come to practice and work as usual, that’s what,” Jessica informed her. “It’ll be just like every other night, you’ll see.”


	11. Moonlight

“Oh yay! It’s little Phil!” squealed Lexi. “Officially the best day ever, starting now!”  


“You say that about everyone,” growled Ren.  


Lexi blinked at the bartender innocently. “But it’s true, Ren. And Phil is the best of the best. Just the right amount of squish right here.”  


“Those are my breasts, Lexi!”  


“Very nice. I wish I was all soft and cushiony.”  


Phillipa extricated herself from the little woman’s amazingly strong grip with difficulty. Mostly, Lexi was just playing around. Nearly everyone in the club liked to tease Phillipa, because she got flustered so easily. More than once she wished her mother had let her take Sex Ed. If she had gotten the facts of life sooner than sixteen, she was sure she would have been unflappable. Or at least, as unflappable as everyone else.  


“Hands where I can see them, Lexi-doll,” Jay chided. “Phillipa is not playdough. Now, hop on stage, Phillipa darling. The piano is ready for you.”  


Glad that she was still in pants, Phillipa scrambled up on to the raised platform. Most of the girls worked with digital recordings. Now and then, however, one of the cocktail girls wanted to practice their sense of timing with a real instrument. That was where she came in handy. Today she was doubly useful, because Kat wanted to try out two new songs with just the piano. At show time, Phillipa was going to be her accompaniment.  


“If I can start with ‘Just Give Me a Reason,’ and segue right into ‘Toy Soldiers,’ that would be great.” Kat tipped Phillipa an exaggerated wink.  


While Phillipa let her fingers take over, she could not help remembering the first time she had touched a piano to make music. Her father had occasionally played their upright, but the rest of the time it was locked. Although she could push down the pedals and sit on the bench, Phillipa did not get to make it make noise.  


One day, as her father was playing ‘The Entertainer,’ someone had knocked. He left the bench to answer the door. Later, Phillipa had discovered that it was a neighbor, good-naturedly complaining about her dad’s choice of music- her kids thought it was an ice cream truck.  


All Phillipa had thought of at that moment, however, was that now the music-maker was all hers. She was not forbidden to touch it, exactly. On the other hand, no one seemed to be very sharing. So she was going to make the most of what might be her only chance. She clambered up onto the bench with some effort. It was a long way to the keyboard, but she reached out for the keys regardless. The bench would be too heavy to move quickly.  


Very softly, she touched a white key. Then, a black one. Note by note, she searched the keys for the tune she wanted. Here and there she found pieces of it, but how they fit eluded her.  


“Well, well. Who do I spy in my seat?”  


Guiltily, Phillipa jerked her fingers from the keys. She was such a long way from the piano that she had been leaning a fair distance forward. Fortunately, Daddy was used to how clumsy she was and caught her.  


“Was that my little girl playing ‘Moonlight Sonata?’ I know it’s your favorite,” he said as he whirled her around.  


“Yes, Daddy, but the pieces don’t fit together right.”  


He smiled. “Music isn’t quite like a puzzle, little Annie. You sit here and watch my fingers.”  


Just like that, he had invited her to share his very special gift. He taught her pieces she could play alone, and pieces they played together, like ‘Heart and Soul.’ Every time she sat at the bench, she felt him sitting beside her, watching with his tender smile.  


Some people thought she was talented. Her piano instructor, who had taken over after her father died, certainly had believed. Even when her mother “forgot” to pay, Mrs. Danielson had carried on teaching Phillipa. She had even sent a tape to Julliard and paid the audition fee. But they had never heard back. It was one of many foolish dreams Phillipa had had to let go. Like singing, Phillipa just enjoyed playing the piano. Enthusiasm could not replace talent, and certainly could never mimic real genius.  


“Play the song!” Lexi begged when practice was over. Phillipa sighed and stretched her spine, hands in front of her.  


“Which song, Lexi?”  


“The song. Play it. Play it now!”  


“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” asked Jessica as she picked the tiny girl up off her feet.  


“Yes,” Lexi pouted. “I want what I want when I want. So play the song, Phil.”  


Mixing chuckles and sighs, Phillipa gave in. There was no stopping Lexi once she began. It was easier, if not wiser, to just do as the little thing asked. It saved on whining too. And Phillipa did love the song.  


No matter where a piano might be, this was the first piece she would play on it. Without exception. From the beginning, she had struggled to master it, even though it had been well out her skill range. She was only a fan of pianists if they could play it as well as she heard it in her head. While she outwardly laughed at remixes, inside she was cringing. It was beautiful just as it had been written. Why did anyone think they could do it better?  


Phillipa scooted over to the right on the piano bench slightly, and set her fingers over the ivories. In her mind, she could feel her dad lean in close. She knew he would tell her to relax and in response to the thought she loosened her shoulders. Then, as written, she began to softly play Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata.’  


Her concentration was wholly focused on recreating the melody perfectly. Although her dad had used to play it, his interpretation was not the one she sought to mimic. Rather, it was a tune she could hear even as she played it herself. Nine times out of ten, sometimes ninety-nine times out of a hundred, she fell short of that perfection.  


Tonight turned out to be that magical tenth time. The elusive piece flowed out of her fingers as flawless as she ever dreamed it. Transitions in volume seemed to design themselves. At moments like this, Phillipa almost thought someone else had possession of her body. How could it be her, producing such nigh-impossible beauty?  


As always, the end of the piece startled her. Even while she knew there was no more, Phillipa was haunted by the suggestion that there could be. But it was done, and the girls were applauding furiously. Actually, it did sound like more people, rather than harder applause.  


Her head came up to see Tony Stark grinning at her. To compound her mortification, he was not alone. There stood Steve Rogers- Captain America!- and five other men and women she did not know. One of the ladies, she suspected, was Mr. Stark’s secretary and former fiancée. As for the rest, she had no clue.  


Since she had no choice but to face them, however briefly, Phillipa made herself leave the relative protection of the piano. The other girls clustered in close, with the exception of Ren, who was stocking the bar. As usual, Jay was too carefree to notice that Phillipa was scared. She hardly knew what to say to one person, let alone seven. For now, she would just be brief and flee. Maybe that was the wrong way to approach this, but she just could not tell. She would let Mr. Stark set the tone.  


“Now, missy, why didn’t you tell me you were multi-talented?” he teased, his grin wider than seemed possible.  


“You didn’t ask.” Not exactly cutting-edge wit, but it was true.  


“That was beautiful,” Steve said. Him, she understood. Simple and straight-forward, with only a hint of depth beneath; Steve was a person she could get along with. He would never demand too much information and familiarity all at once. Besides, he had such an honest smile. She could believe him.  


“Now, now; save your compliments until after you see her real performance,” Jay insisted, suggesting that he was a bit more observant than he looked. “It’s time for girls to get changed from pumpkins to princesses.”  


“Whoo! I’m a pumpkin!” Lexi declared. She grabbed Phillipa’s arm possessively. “Turn me into a princess!”  


“Me too,” laughed Kat. “Let’s go, fairy godmother.”  


Truly, Phillipa hardly minded being dragged away. Just now, she could hardly think of anything to say, even to the trustworthy Captain America. Maybe a change of clothes would help give her courage in the face of all those people. Where did Tony Stark get all those friends, anyway? He might be single-handedly responsible for the friend-shortage she constantly experienced. In which case, she might just sic Ren on him and see how he liked being snubbed.


	12. Discomfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist is at https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-dJN3CYAC1k7YMiVDdBnzScekj8NqZ5R

For years, Jemma had understood that she was a nerd. As such, she was debarred from true popularity. But, as school hierarchies went, a science nerd was nowhere near as outcast as those who cast themselves out. They even, so rumor said, hated each other.  


Therefore, she was as uncomfortable as she had ever been, pretending to fit in with these misfits, who were not even her misfits. She was fairly certain that black was not her color, nor was funeral dress in any way flattering. She felt a bit like a black pigeon imagining itself to be a peacock. Besides, this was a mentality and she obviously did not get it.  


On the other end of the spectrum lay Leo, who had shown up so much one of the crowd that she almost missed him. He even had piercings. It was a little disconcerting, especially seeing as how he normally looked a bit rumpled and had brown hair, not bottle black. She wondered how he walked around with all those belts and metal, and why anyone would wear leather into a nightclub. As for Skye-  


“Ohmigosh! I’m so excited!” Skye bounced on her heels happily. “I never got to go here when I visited New York! It’s just the best place ever.”  


“I kind of thought that Goths were. . . more discreet,” she suggested. Unfortunately, this only encouraged Skye to be even more enthusiastic about this culture. Jemma realized with a sinking heart that she may have invoked a lecture.  


“Oh, no, Jemma. There are load of different Goth types, you see! Tonight, I’m a perky Goth. We’re annoying!”  


Apparently, the crowd around them agreed, since most people were keeping their distance. That might have had something to do with the sheer size of Skye’s hair, though. Like Leo, she had dyed it black, and then added in bright pink strands somehow- Jemma hoped they were fake. Currently she had gained about three times the hair volume. Also like Leo, she sported a huge amount of metal and leather, but added a poofy hot pink petticoat and torn striped stockings. Her boots were equally enormous, with the suggestion that if she stepped on someone’s foot, it would be the equivalent of being stomped by a thoroughbred.  


Of course, Jemma must have stood out like a sore thumb herself. A black suit plus black eyeliner applied far too heavily by Skye did not make a Goth. Strangely enough, there were a few people there in suits that were almost, but not quite, the same. Somehow they looked more equal to the occasion. That beautiful red jacket with the rose brocade pattern, for example. . .  


For whatever reason, the doorman did not even blink at their group. He just waved them on in, suggesting to over-bright Skye that tables in the back were better for those who wanted both a decent view and to sit through the dancing. While Skye bounced around, clearly in heaven and also at home, and Leo appraised the other people with a weirdly indifferent sneer, Jemma tried to see if she could spot Phillipa and the section she would be serving tonight.  


Coulson had been quite indirect in his instructions, but Jemma was well aware of his real request. There was a reason she was the alien bio-chemist, and it was not because that was all she ever thought about. Hopefully, they could wrangle a table which Coulson’s daughter would wait on. Surreptitiously, Jemma would take a photo or two for her boss. He missed his little girl.  


Although, looking around at the girls already on the floor, she was not certain he would recognize Phillipa. They all invested in industrial strength make-up, and clothes that were either painted on (not the way he would enjoy seeing his daughter), or must have been a work of serious art and construction crews to get into. The girl who bounced over to suggest a table was quite frilled, and strangely reminiscent of Skye. Jemma sensed immediate adoration between the pair. This was cemented by the girl gushing,  


“OMG, I LOVE YOUR SHOES!”  


“OMG! THANK YOU!” returned Skye, speaking in all caps, just like the waitress. “I ADORE YOUR BODICE!”  


Jemma stood back, just in case the universe was about to implode. It would not help, but psychologically, it felt safer this way. Something like a meeting of kindred spirits was taking place, and Jemma was not certain how it would end.  


“When in doubt, ask a native,” Leo muttered.  


“They don’t come much more native,” Jemma had to agree. It amazed her how well Skye blended in. Such a talent, which Jemma certainly did not have, explained why Agent Coulson had been so quick to take her on, and trust her on missions such as this. Still, this looked amazingly genuine. Maybe Skye was not faking?  


Rather suddenly, the kindred spirits turned their attention on her. It was much the way lionesses might set their eyes on the next meal. Surprised, Jemma held as still as possible as the pair looked her up and down. They looked at each other when finished, apparently communicating some kind of dismay.  


“Oh, I see what you mean,” said the newcomer almost mournfully. Then she brightened up considerably. “But we can fix that!”  


“Can we?” Skye squealed.  


“Fix what?” Jemma asked feebly, but the girls had already grabbed her arms. “I don’t want to be fixed.”  


“Sure, Jay understands. This is an EMERGENCY.”  


“It is?” tried Jemma again, but they were definitely not listening.  


“I bet she looks great in red!” suggested the newcomer.  


“Oh yes!” enthused Skye. “But she’s got NOTHING, I SWEAR.”  


“Uh, I have plenty of clothes-” but the new girl spoke right over the top of her, all the while bustling them toward a room with the legend ‘Dressing Room’ carved dramatically into the woodwork.  


“Ugh, I know EXACTLY what you mean. I ADORE little Phil, but that girl- she wears T-SHIRTS. And no make-up at all!”  


“I wear T-shirts,” muttered Jemma.  


“Oh, how sad! She’s too pretty for that!”  


“I KNOW, RIGHT? Some people just can’t be helped,” sighed the new girl, pushing Jemma into the only chair in the dressing room.  


“Skye,” Jemma hissed as the other girl shoved through an amazing amount of leather and tulle, “I do not need a makeover!”  


“Puh-leeze, Jemma. You can’t be at Dark of the Moon looking like that. I told you so already.” To Jemma’s horror, Skye seemed decided.  


“But Skye-”  


“Here we are. I guessed at your size, but with corsets, there are LACES. Makes you fit most anything! And this darling little hat will just suit you.”  


Jemma set her chin mulishly. “I don’t need different clothes.”  


The pair looked at each other. Eyebrows went up, and then down as some form of silent communication took place. It was quite fascinating to watch. Then they pounced as one.  


Twenty minutes later, Jemma marched out of the dressing room. She found Leo, watching the first show. He turned, still looking bored, and then choked on his drink. While he sputtered, she yanked out a chair and sat down, glowering.  


“Wha- how- um, I mean- Wow, Jemma.”  


“Shut up.”  


“Are those skulls?”  


“Shut up!”  


“It looks nice,” he ventured after a moment.  


“I said shut up!” Jemma concentrated on not strangling Leo, and tried to ignore the outfit she was now stuffed into.  


The original corset had been vetoed after the new girl, named Lexi, had found a red jacket with a corset back. Clad in only her bra beneath it, Jemma felt a little exposed. However, the petticoat she was wearing in lieu of a real skirt was much more revealing, being mere black tulle with red skulls printed on it. Underneath she had a pair of black hot pants which felt about as “her” as tiger-print. The only consolation was that she could kick the hell out of anyone in the shiny black boots she had been given. And if Leo did not stop staring at her like that, he was going to be her first victim.  


“I see one of your friends is back now. Would you like to order something?”  


Jemma looked up, and stared. There was no doubt the girl in front of her was Phillipa. No one else was possible. It was slightly unnerving. As best she could, Jemma pulled herself together and asked,  


“May I see a menu?”  


“Of course,” smiled Phillipa. She handed a lace-covered book over, and added, “If you would like to hear our specials, I can tell you those as well.”  


“Maybe when you come back,” Jemma managed to suggest. With another smile, Phillipa left them alone.  


“My god,” breathed Jemma.  


“I know. Weird, isn’t it?”  


“Fascinating is more like it! I wonder if it’s biologic imperative. Do you suppose-”  


Skye bounced over, interrupting Jemma to say, “Doesn’t she look perfect?”  


“Fits right in,” Leo agreed hesitantly, probably sensing the thunderstorm forming over Jemma’s head.  


“I know, right? You are just adorable like that, Jemma. It was super nice of Lexi to help us out. Oh yeah, and. . .” She lowered her voice and looked secretive. “Lexi says that someone is bothering Phillipa, and it’s not Grant. He was snooping around her apartment yesterday.”  


“How did you get all that information?” asked Leo, curious.  


“Oh, Lexi tells me everything. We’re going to be best friends forever.”  


“Skye, this isn’t kindergarten,” pointed out Jemma, more than a little annoyed. “The only thing you are here to do is to gather information on Phillipa.”  


“But I got plenty of stuff on Phillipa. Also, and more importantly, you guys are the ones who are super spies. I am so totally not into that kind of thing. I’m not even welcome in the club, remember?” Skye flashed her silver bracelet at them.  


“And yet, here you are,” pointed out Leo.  


“Yeah, but not like that! I mean, I’m just your interpreter, kind of.” She gave him a look Jemma would not have expected from innocent Skye at first meeting, but now had come to dread. “Although you don’t look like you need much help there.”  


To Jemma’s amazement, Leo turned bright red. It occurred to her that she hardly knew him, although they were great partners. She thought- well, she had thought- that he was a simple engineer and nothing much more than a nerd like she was. Now that she could see a little more of his true self, Jemma wondered how much she had let slide out of self-interest. Not that SHIELD encouraged a lot of friendship-building activity between partners.  


“Look, let’s not go all crazy on our first visit,” Skye suggested. “I mean, who knows if we’ll even see much of her tonight?”  


Leo coughed slightly, and Jemma simply knew that Phillipa was standing right behind the two women. She turned slightly in her seat, hoping to goodness that she did not look half as guilty as she felt. Fortunately, Phillipa was smiling benevolently, as if she had no idea they were discussing her.  


“I just came to check on you all. Are you ready to order? Perhaps a drink?”  


Skye came to the rescue, in spectacular fashion, dialling up her perky persona to the fullest, as she had with the other waitress. “OMG, it is so totally you!”  


“It is?”  


“You debuted Sunday night, didn’t you?”  


“Oh. Yes,” Phillipa admitted, appearing mildly confused.  


“Oh, I hoped we would see you tonight. Are you performing? Because: Oh. My. God. You were totally amazing.”  


“Uh, well. . . I do have two slots.”  


Skye squealed with delight, to Jemma’s dismay. “Tonight is going to be AWESOME.”  


Phillipa rallied magnificently, much as Skye had done in turning their stalking into something more socially acceptable. “Can I recommend something for you off the menu?”  


“Please do,” purred Skye. Even Leo was giving her a look of dismay.  


“Well, we do an excellent cod fish and chips, and the summer salad is very popular. Tonight, our specials include clam chowder with oyster crackers and a Philly cheesesteak made by the neighborhood deli. For drinks, I am assured no one does a better Manhattan or Long Island Iced Tea. And we have virgin versions of all the popular choices.”  


“I’ll try the clam chowder,” Jemma cut in to keep Skye from babbling. “With a Long Island.”  


“Oh, I’ll have the fish and chips and a Manhattan,” said Skye happily.  


“I’ll have the cheesesteak,” Leo decided. “And a Widmer Pale Ale.”  


Smiling wanly, Phillipa nodded. “I’ll bring those out to you, if you would just give me your IDs for a moment.”  


The smile was so exactly like her father’s that the whole table numbly handed over their cards without comment. She swept them up and walked over to the bar, leaving a shocked group behind her. Finally, Skye breathed out.  


“Wow. She couldn’t be anybody else’s kid, could she? It’s like seeing her dad in a dress.”  


“Some of us like to sleep at night,” complained Leo. “Why did you have to bring that up?”  


“It’s not a fair comparison, either,” Jemma pointed out. “She has a figure.”  


“A total hourglass,” nodded Skye. “Lexi told me she looks like that without a corset.”  


Indeed, it did seem that Phillipa's figure was not entirely due to her Victorian garb. Tonight she wore a beautiful bustle dress in dark gray. The corset hugged her like a second skin and did not protrude at the belly. Some of that was due to her age, surely, but it did seem as if her curves were her own, although Jemma could not be certain about the rear. Jemma felt slightly envious of that figure. Sure, she had breasts and hips too, but nothing so curvaceous.  


Then again, Jemma would never wear the make-up she had on, with the heavy and strangely sharp-cornered eyeliner and the lips painted black. It made her look unreal, and yet also beautiful. Even her blue eyes seemed darker. Could that be a result of-  


“Give me your phone for a moment, Skye,” Jemma commanded. Busy watching Phillipa with similar envy, Skye simply handed the device over.  


Quickly, Jemma searched through google images for pictures of Phillipa's performance last night. Yes, it was as she suspected. Before she gave the phone back, she swiftly snapped a couple pictures of their waitress. Phil ought to have something, and with that moony look on her face, Skye would not care. Sorting through the pictures, Jemma had to wonder. Would their boss see her as cute, or beautiful, or completely alien after all these years apart?  


“Oh, I didn't know she had a boyfriend,” Skye remarked wistfully.  


Jemma's head snapped up. She followed Skye's line of sight, but the man she had indicated was not Fred Myers. He was long in the leg and impeccably dressed, still wearing his well-tailored wool coat. Given the way he was eying Phillipa, he was certainly interested. For a moment, Jemma thought he was simply flirting for the fun of it, but Phillipa's blush and sidelong glance suggested there was more going on. When she set down his menu, he put his hand out, almost too quickly, catching her lace sleeve in his hand. He slid his hand up her arm and murmured something softly. Self-consciously, Phillipa pulled away, but he still he had hold of her sleeve. Another murmur and Phillipa laughed.  


It was a lovely sound, and Jemma wondered if that was what the man was after. Still, he had not released Phillipa and she did not appear to wish to be let go. His face showed an expression of amusement tinged with desire. Were they a couple after all?  


How he realized that Jemma was staring, she was not sure, but when he turned from Phillipa for a moment, he deliberately caught her eyes. Then, he smirked. Casually, he drew Phillipa nearer by crooking a finger. Whatever he said turned her crimson and she hurried off. She did not go far, however, before turning back to look at him almost longingly. He smiled at her, serenely secure. Then, as she turned to actually leave, he turned insolent blue eyes on Jemma, grinning slowly. It was the look of a self-satisfied predator. Embarrassed without knowing exactly why, Jemma tore her gaze away.  


“Wow, he is so hot,” Skye breathed. “Who is he?”  


Wanting an answer to the same question, Jemma looked at Leo, but he was still watching the stranger. “I don't know,” he said after a bit. “But I don't like it. No one hinted that Phillipa had a boyfriend.”  


“Well, it could all be on the down low,” pointed out Skye. “Or super casual.”  


”Not the way he looked at her,” Jemma said, feeling oddly angry. “Not the way he touched her, either.”  


Something was wrong with this setup, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. Even if she had to behave as rudely as Agent Ward, she was going to have answers. Now was the worst time for someone to be messing with their understanding of Phillipa’s life. With Myers poking around, there was no room for error. A.I.M. had targeted Phillipa before. Worse, they were riding a wave of minor successes and there were rumors of kidnappings committed by them without the authorities finding out. If they really were on a roll and knew where Phil’s daughter was, there was nothing to keep A.I.M. in check; not in terms of their own pragmatism, at least.  


Setting her jaw, Jemma stood up and made her way to the edge of the dance floor. It spoke volumes about their relationship that Leo was only a beat behind her, having paused only to tell Skye to stay at the table. He settled in beside her, casual and cool. Now and then, she wished- but that was unimportant. He was a good partner.  


“You think he’s part of it?” The question mark was faint, but Jemma heard it.  


“It’s too convenient. I’m more worried that it took so long to update her file. You know what that could mean.”  


“She’s not high-priority.”  


“We added three new high-priority files last month that aren’t as complete as hers. Someone keeps tabs on her, and I don’t think it’s Phil.”  


“I think we have an answer for that,” murmured Leo in reply, gesturing subtly with his finger on the back of her hand.  


Prepared to see someone or something she was not expecting, Jemma was nevertheless startled by who she spotted. Although she immediately knew why this was the person, she still goggled slightly. After all, someone so very new to SHIELD usually kept a lower profile. Yet, there they were, in the middle of what was surely a meeting of the finest minds this establishment had to offer.  


Voice still soft, Leo filled her in. “The bartender is a mutant, as are at least two of the cocktail girls and half of all the waitresses. With such a weighted staff, it’s no surprise to see Jen Cameron here every night. She keeps an eye on the place, and talks it up to the journalists. A little New York utopia.”  


“Then, the owner wants to keep her happy. But-”  


“Her fiancée, I bet, is just as welcome as she is. Now, if you want real trouble, I would look to our left. No wonder the boss didn’t want Grant coming back.”  


Hardly expecting to be further shocked, Jemma nonetheless braced herself. At a group of tables, practically right next to theirs, a gathering of those selfsame high priority files she had mentioned earlier was settling in. Only one of the usual suspects was missing, but even as collaborators with SHIELD they were dangerous when crossed. Any one of them would be difficult to manage. As a group this large, no one save Nick Fury could dare to control them. And they were not all feeling friendly toward SHIELD at the moment. Given the trouble Grant had caused with two of them yesterday morning, it was not likely they would want to spot more agents around Phillipa tonight.  


“You’d think an assignment like this might offer some perks,” she grumbled, turning toward their table.  


“We’re drinking on the company tab?” Leo reminded her, and she had to smile at that.  


“One Long Island and a beer hardly counts. The chowder might do it, though. I didn’t even look at the prices.”  


“I did,” Skye said, having caught the last of the conversation. “It’s not too bad. I might be able to come back on my own once in a while, even.”  


“Ah, the glories of capitalism,” Leo joked, settling back in his seat.  


“Given how idealistic every other economic structure proposed is, I’ll take the capitalist discrepancies any day. Just think, we could be pretending to be Communist.”  


“She has a point,” said a man at the next table, with slightly graying hair. “Excuse me for butting in, but if you do away with capitalism, what will you replace it with?”  


Their neighbors, whom Jemma had noticed earlier, were sitting at three tables put together. By her count, there were seven of them: five men and two women. All of them, again as she had noted before, were trouble. Of course, that did not mean they could not banter politely. Certainly, it looked like Leo was game.  


“Banner, you are not here to discuss economic policy with strangers,” interrupted the man at the head of the first table. “You are here, to get very, very drunk.”  


“That is what you’re here for,” pointed out an African man to his left. “That’s what I’m here for. But I don’t think that’s what he’s here for.”  


“Actually, first you are all here to have the lovely Phillipa reduce you to mush with her voice. Then you can get very, very drunk. But no part of our agreement says that you can bore everyone at the table.”  


“Did you get that in writing?” quipped another man, seated by a startlingly beautiful redhead.  


“I can’t get drunk,” pointed out the fifth man, slightly annoyed.  


“Well, that makes you the designated driver.”  


“You have one,” the blonde woman reminded him tiredly. “We came in the limo, remember?”  


“These drinks must be good, because I don’t.”  


He and his neighbor laughed heartily, but the others seemed to find his humor lacking, as Jemma did. Almost as though they all had the same thought at once, the two groups seemed to merge. Leo fell to discussing politics with Skye and Banner, with the blonde listening in politely. Instead of being left out, Jemma found herself being introduced to the others around the table by the man who could not drink. She knew them all, naturally, but she did not let on.  


When Phillipa came back with their food and drinks, she eyed the large group warily. “I seem to remember there being fewer people here a minute ago.”  


“Oh, we absorbed some. Like amoebas.” Stark laughed with his friend, Rhodes, but Phillipa did not.  


“All right,” she sighed. “Just tell me how to split the checks.”  


“Split nothing. It’s on me,” Stark said.  


“Um,” began Skye, but he waved a hand authoritatively.  


“On me, I said. Knock yourselves out.”  


The blonde secretary sighed and handed over a card to Phillipa. “Keep the tab open, would you? And I’d like a martini.”  


“What kind?” Phillipa inquired politely as she took the card.  


“The kind that makes me forget what he’s doing with his money.”  


“O-kay,” said Phillipa. “I’ll see what Ren has filed under that.”  


“Thank you.”  


With a smile, Phillipa turned to Steve Rogers. “Did you decide what you wanted to drink?”  


“Oh. No, I don’t really know.” The big, muscular man looked sheepish.  


“What about a grapefruit soda?” she suggested. “Ren makes them with real grapefruit juice.”  


His grin was relieved. “That sounds great. Thank you.”  


“I’ll bring that right out. Does anyone need a refill?”  


Rhodes and Stark raised their glasses and she took them with a rueful smile. “If you need anything in the next fifteen minutes, Lexi will help you.”  


“Ah-ah, this means you are going on stage,” Stark unnecessarily pointed out.  


“After I bring out your drinks, yes.”  


“Well, then we’ll prepare to be rocked.”  


Phillipa gave him a skeptical look. “You do that.”  


Once she had walked away, Rhodes nudged Stark. “She’s mad at you.”  


“What?”  


“That girl just tried to remove your skin with her eyeballs. And I do mean your skin, not your clothes.”  


“Don’t be gross. She’s Mini-Phil, after all.” Stark waved his glass. “Although, you know, it is kind of cool that he managed to reproduce. Just think about that for a minute. Man had it good. Wonder how he snagged his wife.”  


Jemma made a face. Drunk Tony Stark was not her cup of tea. Even less so was the prospect of listening to him discussing the possible strategies of her boss in his sexual life. She had to look him in the eye tomorrow morning, after all!  


“Here you are,” Phillipa said, her return putting a cork in Stark much better than possibly anyone else could. “Two more shots of brandy, and a grapefruit soda. If you need anything before I get back, Lexi- over there, in the blue- will handle it.”  


“Thank you, Phillipa,” Rogers said with a smile.  


She smiled back, not Phil’s bland smile, but a genuine grin. “You’re welcome.”  


As she walked away, Rhodes punched Stark on the arm. Annoyed, Stark punched him back, slightly harder. He gestured with his drink to explain the irritation.  


“That’s not very friendly, hitting a man while he’s drinking.”  


“Well, I would have toasted with you, but you were totally not facing the right way.”  


“Oh yes, and what were you going to toast?”  


Rhodes grinned in Rogers’ direction. “His new relationship.”  


“Aw, gross, man.” Stark downed his shot in one gulp. “He could be her grandfather- her great-grandfather.”  


As the two burst out laughing, Rogers glared at them. “Very funny.”  


“It’s totally inappropriate. I vote we move our table,” Miss Potts decided.  


“Ouch. Leave us out in the cold, eh?”  


She nodded at Rhodes. “I would so. Now pipe down already. I’d like to hear Phil’s daughter sing.”  


Jemma turned toward the front at her words. Sure enough, Phillipa had taken the stage. Impressively, there was a smoke machine in the club, and it was going for all its worth, twining around the bottom of her dress. Stunningly, the entire room had gone silent. Everyone seemed to know that something impressive was coming.  


Thinking quickly, Jemma held up her camera. It wasn’t the best light, but it would be something more than Phil currently had. And she would need to analyze the sound once she got back to her laboratory. Actually, she would probably send it on to someone she had already seen tonight, but that was beside the point.  


She was lucky to have her camera out. There was no lead-in to the song. Phillipa just began at some unseen cue.  


“I’m not the one who’s so far away, when I feel the snake bite into my veins. Never did I want to be here again, and I don’t remember why I came.”  


Jemma had to remind herself to keep the camera up and pointed at Phillipa. Whatever anyone might think, the girl had talent. Finding herself feeling strangely hypnotized, she tried to shake it off. The sensation remained, however. This was, she thought as the song ended and she could see others coming out of the same haze she had occupied, the reason SHIELD was so worried about her.  


Someone, however, did not look at all dazed. The man who had been so interested in Phillipa was leaning forward in his seat, his whole body poised as if to pounce on her. Again, she did not know how, he noticed her stare.  


This time, he simply stood and with a wink in her direction, disappeared into the crowd. She tried to snap a picture of him, but he moved too swiftly for her to change settings. Frustrated, she thought about tracking him down, but a glance at Leo told her now was not the time to do something unexpected.  
Instead, she joined in the compliment overload at the table. Later, she would be able to wander slightly. Someone that intrigued with Phillipa would certainly hang around all night.


	13. One of Those Days

It was one of those nights, Phillipa mused as she fielded the fifth round of drinks for Stark and his friend- their fifth since Jessica’s third song. Supposedly, she had a break for dinner coming up. However, it seemed that someone was missing tonight from the usual waitresses. She had no other explanation for the long shift.

Lexi joined her at the counter, fanning herself with her empty tray while she waited for Ren to fill an order too. “Did you hear? Amy got jumped, so we’re one short.”

“Jumped?” Phillipa asked, looking at Ren as the bartender came over to their side of the bar.

“Nobody knows who it was, but they think it was a patron, because it was right outside our side entrance,” the short-haired bartender told them quietly.

“God,” Phillipa exclaimed. “Is she all right?”

Ren shrugged expressively. “She probably will be. Jay got a cab to take her to the hospital, and she was talking. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to spell Lexi for dinner, and then she’ll spell you. Kat will pick up the tail end of service, instead of going home.”

“No wonder it’s such a mess out there,” Phillipa said. “I thought we were crowded.”

“We are,” Lexi told her cheerily. “Don says we let in more people than we did Monday and Sunday! Well, I’m off for my lunch break. I warned everybody in my section about you, Ren, so no one should give you trouble that doesn’t want you to break their toes.”

“Come to me with your drink orders,” Ren ordered. “But everything else you just put into the computer. Do you remember how?”

“Yes,” Phillipa assured her. “No problem.”

“Maybe you could tell the lushes at your table to ease up, too,” suggested Ren sarcastically.

“I might as well get the Great Wall to reassemble itself in Hollywood. It would be about as useful a comment,” grumbled Phillipa. “I’m amazed they aren’t dead yet.”

More thoughtful now, she went back around the tables to check on her customers. Most of them were doing well. Once again, however, when she came back to the large table-conglomerate, Stark waved his glass at her. At this point, she felt she had to say something.

“Do you have something against your liver?” she asked, even though she still picked up his glass. His friend, she noticed, had not tried to keep up.

“What I don’t have,” he told her unsteadily, “Is anything against good scotch.”

Phillipa looked around the table to see if anyone was going to stop him. His secretary- the blonde drolly named Pepper Potts- had already called herself a cab and left. This left only his close friend, who was starting to look like he regretted his drinks, and Steve Rogers meeting her eyes. Fortunately, Steve put his glass down and hinted,

“Maybe you want to cleanse your palate a bit before your next shot.”

“And what do you know about drinking? You can’t even get drunk!” Stark accused.

Steve put his lips together tightly, but said lightly enough, “I bet I could drink a whole fifth of anything you like and stay sober.”

“Oh-oh. And what, my good man, will you give me if you lose?”

“Easy. I’ll be drunk.”

Blearily, Stark considered this prospect. “Okay. And if I don’t win?”

“You have to stick to water for at least two hours.”

“Done!” Stark stuck out his hand in the general direction of Steve, luckily not damaging anything along the way. Calmly, Steve shook it. For her part, Phillipa was aghast. No one could drink an entire fifth!

Steve came along with her as she went to the bar. When they arrived, he tapped her on the arm. She turned to him, and he smiled.

“Don’t worry. A fifth won’t kill me. I won’t even get buzzed. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“You’ve tried?” she asked, horrified.

“Dr. Erskine said I probably wouldn’t be able to get drunk. My metabolism, you see? When I lost my best friend, I felt I had to test that theory. All it did was burn my throat on the way down. I would have preferred drunk.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry about that. But why would you drink a fifth, knowing that?”

“Anything to keep Stark from crying to me in the morning,” Steve said, completely deadpan. Then, he grinned slightly. “So, suggest something smooth and expensive, seeing as this is his tab.”

“You’re not a very good friend,” Ren noted as she slipped back behind the bar. She gave him a look through her smoked glasses that Phillipa recognized as the most amused the bartender generally got.

“On the contrary, miss, I think I’m a much better friend than the one who lets him drink himself to unconsciousness. Uh-oh. I’d better go and help Rhodes to the restroom. Pardon me, ladies. Pick something for me.”

Ren watched him go, and then shook her head. “Don’t fall for that one. He’ll always put everyone else ahead of himself.”

“Uh, I’m not falling for anyone, thank you.”

“Just a word to the wise. Also, why do you keep lingering next to him like you want to ask him something?”

Phillipa felt her face burning. “Because I do have something to ask him, but it’s personal.”

“Pardon me for breathing, I’m sure,” Ren responded to her sharp rebuke.

“Sorry. I guess I’m too used to people pushing for more information.”

“So tell Karen to move out,” suggested Ren as she mixed up a Tequila Sunrise. “And put in your dinner order. The kitchen is pretty backed up. Tag it with your name, so it can be ready for you. I don’t want to wait on you, too.”

Biting her tongue, Phillipa keyed in a salad. She would get her drink from Ren when it was time for dinner. That would be about enough time spent by Ren’s sharp tongue. The bartender did not mean to be so caustic, but she hated serving customers. Some of the people who came to the club spent hours baiting Ren. It was a fetish, so Lexi had led Phillipa to understand. Why anyone would enjoy having their head smashed in by a wine bottle remained beyond Phillipa.

She kept waiting tables, missing the spectacle of Steve Rogers downing an entire bottle of rum in front of a startled and, later, disappointed Stark. Thankfully, he allowed her to bring him a pitcher of cold water and an empty glass. His friend, Rhodes, seemed a bit more grateful. The others at the table had already given up on booze, and the only one working on any form of alcohol was the redhead, Natasha, who was drinking a dessert wine while perusing the dessert menu. She had explained that looking was nearly as good as eating, in regards to such lists.

Everyone else was cheerfully discussing politics still, except for Jemma, who had been pounced on and re-dressed by Lexi. She seemed distracted, and had been all night. Understandingly, Phillipa had tried to give her other things to think about. This was not really her scene. Lexi had done well for a bit, but then she had noticed Dr. Banner and that was it. Who knew Lexi was such a science groupie? Regardless, she was now banned from the table unless and until she figured out how not to creep out Dr. Banner.

The table Phillipa wished was busier- or at least more in need of her attention- was mostly quiet. Every so often, he would tip his glass toward her, but he said nothing like he had earlier. She had been so busy, she hardly remembered what he had joked about that made her laugh. Yet, she wanted to laugh again and she was certain he could make her do so.

Exhausted, Phillipa went back to the bar with an order from Jemma for a virgin pina colada. She nodded to Steve, who was there himself with a tip for Ren. While the bartender eyed him suspiciously, Phillipa adjusted her tray. Abruptly, she felt someone touching her lower back. She turned and found herself face-to-face with her stalker.

“Pardon me,” he said in his heavy Australian accent, grinning.

Almost breathless with fear, Phillipa forced herself to follow her training. “Can I help you with something, sir?”

“Well, a pretty girl like you could dance with me,” he all but leered.

“I am sorry, but I don’t dance,” Phillipa said, trying to sound firm. She suspected it was more tremulous than determined.

“Bullshit,” Fred Myers said. “Girls love dancing.”

“I don’t,” Phillipa said, taking a step back.

“Come on, Sheila, it’s only a dance.” He grabbed at her and she dodged clumsily.

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t make me use force,” he said softly, but dangerous, suddenly far too close.

She froze, unintentionally. It was reflexive, from a childhood of having bottles thrown drunkenly in her direction. Unfortunately, this meant that he could grab her much more easily. This was all about to go horribly wrong.

“Step away from her,” said a new voice.

Fred turned, fists clenched and at the ready. Almost at once he changed his tune, however, needing to look up at Steve Rogers. A subtle change in Captain America’s stance made muscles appear that Phillipa had not heretofore noticed. Fred was definitely intimidated. Seizing the moment, she slipped around so that she was behind Steve.

“I was just asking her for a dance,” the Australian said, almost petulantly.

“And she was simply turning you down,” Steve retorted coldly.

Shaking his head, Phillipa’s neighbor-cum-stalker grumbled, “Then maybe she shouldn’t be such a damn tease.”

Lightning swift, Steve’s arm shot out, grabbing him by the collar. “Did you have something to say?”

Amazingly, his voice did not even register the strain of lifting the six-foot tall jerk. It was a slow and deliberate lift, much like a real weight-lifter in the gym. While partially terrified, Phillipa had to admit a certain thrill. There was something awe-inspiring in watching her father’s hero give that creep a well-deserved fright.

“No, nothing,” insisted Fred. Steve dropped him back onto his feet and gave him a brilliant smile.

“I’m glad to hear it. Now, it seems to me that it’s pretty late. Maybe you ought to head on home, before something bad happens.”

Fred scuttled away, while Phillipa stood, still breathless over the exchange. How was she going to get through the rest of her shift, waiting for that man to come back? Sooner or later, he would catch her alone and then-

“Hey, little Phil, you’re up in ten- are you okay?”

Shamefully, Phillipa felt herself start to crumple. Hearing Jessica’s voice had made her relax too much. Now she was crying about the whole stupid incident, and Jessica was sure to kill someone on her behalf. What the hell was wrong with the world tonight?

“I’ve got him,” Ren muttered, slinking out from behind the bar with a nightstick in one hand. “Take her to the dressing room, Domino.”

Jessica said something choice, but she obeyed. The most embarrassing part of it all was that Phillipa did not even get a chance to thank Steve for coming to her rescue. Still, the dressing room was a very good idea at this point. She had no idea how she was going to get through the rest of the night with the weight of all this hanging over her, and she needed tissue like a diabetic needed insulin.

Settled on the couch, pulled in snug against Jessica, Phillipa tried to get her act together. 

“I’m sorry,” she said weakly.

“It’s not your fault that son of a bitch tried to feel you up right here. The bastard probably knows you’re scared of him now that he went through your stuff. Maybe that’s why he teased Karen into it in the first place. Pervert.”

“He didn’t feel me up,” she protested, turning red at the very idea.

“Ha! You didn’t see him grabbing at your backside in vain. Thank god for bustles, although I never thought I would even think such a thing.”

“I- I-” Phillipa could not find the words to express her horror, but rather suddenly, she was angry. What the hell right did that sick jerk have in yanking her around like this? Life was not supposed to be this way now that she was grown up. Surely no one had ever done this to her parents.

“Now, I know you’re going to hate this, but you really do have to get up on that stage. Jay doesn’t know about this yet, and we’re never going to get to him soon enough to switch. God, you look a fright. Let’s get some cold cream on that.”

Standing up, Phillipa looked in the mirror. She set her jaw. It was time to stop being such a wimp.

“No, this is fine. I can do it like this.”

Although Jessica’s face suggested that she did not believe it, she was a very good friend. “Of course you can, if you think so. What song is it?”

“Like You,” Phillipa said, going over to the closet to find the little hat and veil that Jay had pointed out earlier. Even though no one else had worn it, she had to dig under three jackets and five miscellaneous pieces of leather before catching hold of the gauze. She set the hat at the angle prescribed by Jay in the mirror and glared at her reflection. It would have to do.

Jessica looked at her appraisingly. “You ready?”

“As ever.”

Gently, her friend took her in close again. “Your dad would kick that guy’s ass for you, you know. Presuming, of course, that your friends left him with an ass when we finished.”

“And presuming,” Phillipa added, “That I hadn’t kicked it myself.”

Jessica grinned. “That’s my girl. Your dad would be so proud.”

Phillipa wished she could be as certain of that as her friend was. If she only could have him back. Then, with a tiny sigh, she led the way to the stage. Wishing would do her no good. She had lost her father too long ago to know for certain what he would have thought. And she never could be sure again.

She carefully navigated the backstage mess, trying to avoid snagging her skirt on every stray piece of scenery. The curtain was down, leaving the back area even darker than usual. Of course, this was because they were setting up for her, so Phillipa could hardly complain about it. She just wished, freeing her skirt from a grim reaper scythe, that someone was in charge enough to clear away the debris before closing.

“Ah, there’s my nightingale- goodness, what have you done to your face?” Jay asked, looking properly appalled.

“Artistic license.”

“I- well, if you want to. You do look a fright though, Phillipa, darling.”

Shrugging expansively, Phillipa simply said, “I know.”

Jay gave her a sharp look, but one of the stagehands signalled that the set was complete, and he had no time for questioning. He waved her to the stage proper. Relieved to be free from further questioning, Phillipa went and settled herself on her knees beside a mock grave.

Yesterday, she had not thought very hard on her choice of songs for this evening, nor about her requested set. Now that she was here, however, she could feel how stupid she had been. Everything about her father was still simmering under the surface and here she was reminding herself of everything she would never have again. This was so unfair, and stupid of her. Why had he left?

The curtain opened, and Phillipa avoided sneezing because of the smoke machine by dint of pressing her finger underneath her nose. It did provide a good ambience. Fortunately, it likely looked as though she was holding back tears. Perhaps it was a slightly more dramatic gesture, but anything to avoid further shame.

“Stay low,” she began, looking down at the “grave,” which some ass had put her last name on. “Soft, dark and dreamless. Far beneath the nightmares, and loneliness. I hate me for breathing without you.”

She turned her face slightly toward the audience, thinking on how cruel it was to be without a father she had hardly known. If only she had some memory of him as something other than her protector, her teacher, or her best daddy in the world, maybe it would not be so hard to be alone now. Maybe she could stop feeling the discrepancy between the past and present, or the drag his memory had on her whole life. She would never be able to move forward beyond the loss.

Even as she tried to stand smoothly without stomping the front or back of her dress, Phillipa was bound by the understanding that she performed this song as well as she did because it was true. If she had to choose between staying alone forever and joining her father underground, she would take the grave. She was not ready to be an adult; never could handle all the tragedies and fear.

While the power of the words eased her guilt for the moment, Phillipa knew that she would break down after this song. This was the danger of telling people the truth about herself. She would lose.

“You’re not alone, no matter what they told you: you’re not alone. I’ll be right beside you forever more. I long to be like you- says, lie cold in the ground like you do, there’s room inside for two. And I’m not grieving for you. And as we lay in silent walls, I know you remember me.

“I long to be like you. Lie cold in the ground like you. There’s room inside for two and I’m not grieving for you. I’m coming for you.”

Like usual, there was something of a hesitation in the applause. Phillipa dallied long enough for one curtsy, and then she cut off stage as fast as the bustle would allow. She did not need the adulation as much as they needed her to bow and break the spell. At this moment, she wanted to be alone. What she had lost was not a thing which could be restored. It was too late.

No one was in the dressing room, giving her the opportunity to cry a little more before turning to the sink to wash her face. Even though she tried to stifle them, sobs kept bursting out of her. What a hideous night!

Then a soft touch on her shoulder startled her. She looked up into a pair of beautiful blue eyes. From his table, the tall flirt from before had come into the dressing room and was now eying her with gentle compassion. Struck dumb, she could only keep on staring. How had he come in without her noticing?

“I know what you truly want,” he said in his hypnotic tones. “You know he will never come back, and that is why you weep. Your childhood was buried beside him, and that is what you seek, is it not?”

“H-how did you know?” she asked. With a look of deep sympathy, he took the damp washcloth from her and gently wiped away her tears.

“You desire the freedom of your youth; someone else to make the decisions for you. But now you are grown, and it is expected that you do these things for yourself. You feel betrayed by his death, lost in this world of people who know nothing of your suffering and only seem to add to it.”

Phillipa should have pulled away from him, but instead she allowed him to draw her in close. She could only maintain eye contact by lifting her chin. To her shock, he took advantage of the pose to place a delicate kiss on her lips. At least her lipstick did not rub off on him, which would have been ridiculous. He was far from the ridiculous.

His closeness brought strange feelings to her. A cross between fear, yearning and relief left her simply confused. Unsure of what to do, she watched his face for any cue. Softly, he brushed his hand across her cheek. Then he leaned his head down, until his lips were level with her right ear.

“I can give you what you most crave. And one day, you will beg me for it.” He let his head sink further and bit at her neck, most inappropriately. “I can hardly wait.”

Flushing with shame, and a healthy- if disturbing- dose of desire, Phillipa tried to push him away. “Don’t, please.”

He chuckled, and she felt herself start to weaken. “Are you certain? I can do so much for you, right here and now, if you wish.”

Hesitant, Phillipa attempted to look away. His eyes were distracting her from more important problems, like his hands sliding down over her chest. Yet, she did not tell him to stop again. The way he traced her neckline, occasionally dipping his fingers below the corset but never so deep as to be wholly disreputable, left her trembling.

“You are intoxicating,” he murmured directly in her ear. “How easily you move me to break my own word.”

“I-” she began, but he brought his lips back to hers suddenly, silencing her. The passion of his kiss left her in awe. Where did he learn to convey so much simply by touching lips?

When he pulled away again, she could see clear lust in his eyes, a look she had never seen turned in her direction. Was it truly for her? Before she could follow up on this amazing development, his hand was caressing her cheek. His face softened, and he moved away from her.

“Not yet, my own,” he said when her feet involuntarily moved toward him. “Not yet, but very soon. I promise you, when you are on your knees, I will be there to hear your plea.” 

He took her left hand in his own, bringing it upwards. Bowing gracefully over her hand, he kissed her knuckles. Speechless, Phillipa was left alone with the vague feeling that this had happened before. And she did not even know his name!


	14. He Just Would

Steve watched the party with more annoyance than pleasure. Of course, as the Avengers, they all had something in common, but not enough to build a genuine conversation on. With the addition of their neighbors, Steve was even more left out than usual. Dr. Banner was busily explaining his political views rather than good-naturedly helping Steve follow the contemporary banter. Intriguingly, Natasha and Clint were both quiet but intensely interested in Phillipa. Steve had a suspicion, but he would leave that until they were in a less public venue. 

Rhodes had not quite passed out, but he definitely had the look of a man who wished himself unconscious. Stark was slightly put out by his water restriction, but not yet sober enough to really care. However, even Steve could tell that Phillipa’s last song had dimmed his bright mood. With that creep bothering her, Steve supposed he could not blame her for the dark tone of the song, but it had been- well, more than a little disturbing. 

“All right, grandad,” Stark began. “I’m bored. So let’s play my favorite game: Who Can Get The Girl?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, you don’t even know how to play. Let me show you. First: You pick a girl. Then: you get the girl. Easy.” Stark laughed. “Or she turns you down and you pick another girl.” 

“That doesn’t sound-” But Stark was already looking around. Steve had to give in, if only for the mere entertainment factor. Besides, nothing in that exchange said that he had to play along. 

Stark pointed out the slinky blonde heading for the bar. “That one.” 

Steve eyed the girl dubiously. Even for a billionaire, she seemed a bit out of reach. Maybe that was just the piercings, though. 

He watched as Tony approached his target. The sneer on her face never faded. Steve decided that a decent friend would at least be there to console once it was all over. With this in mind, he headed toward the bar, arriving just in time to see the blonde shoot Tony down in spectacular fashion, drink in the face and everything. 

“Well, that could have been worse,” Stark said as he mopped his face. 

The bartender looked at them, her smoked glasses making it difficult to read her expression. “Maybe if you didn’t use lines that are practically Neolithic, girls wouldn’t waste their liquor on you.” 

“But I mean them,” Stark told her, giving the young woman quite a charming grin. In response, she tightened her grip on a bottle of cheap wine. 

“Get lost before I murder you, playboy,” she ordered. 

“But you’re so beautiful. How can I help myself?” he inquired, smarm oozing from every pore. Thinking quickly, Steve grabbed Stark, pulling him away before she made good on her threats. Phillipa had said the bartender used to be a bouncer. 

“If you don’t get out of here, I swear you will get no more drinks,” she threatened. 

Sighing, Stark followed Steve back to the table. He seemed so downcast, Steve felt sorry for him. His break-up with Pepper seemed to have ruined his game, as Rhodes had suggested it might. 

“Sorry, Stark,” he said, but when Tony looked up, his eyes were full of joy. 

“I’m in love,” he breathed, looking distinctly queer. 

“I will never understand you,” Steve decided, watching Stark turn around and head right back for the bar. 

“I said, get lost!” snapped the bartender. 

“Uh-oh. Ren really shouldn’t be bothered,” Phillipa said, coming up with a tray in her hands. 

“I’m pretty sure telling Stark that would just egg him on,” Steve told her, offering to help her with the glass-filled tray. 

“No, I mean she hits people with bottles.” 

“The empty ones?” 

“No, I mean full ones.” 

Steve thought this over, and let his mouth get ahead of his brain. “Seems a shame. People can’t drink out of a murder weapon.” 

Phillipa actually burst out laughing, glasses tinkling as she tried to keep the tray steady. “That’s an awful thing to say! You’re only supposed to think that.” 

Grinning, Steve suggested, “This means you were thinking it too.” 

She waggled a finger at him. “I didn’t say it out loud! You need manners to deal with women.” 

As if to prove her correct, Ren leaned over the counter towards Stark, gripping the body of a short, dark bottle. “If I have to tell you to beat it one more time, I will brain you with the bottle, you pulsating sac of ego!” 

Smoothly, Phillipa stepped up to the bar and- Steve was certain- pushed the tray over the wood until it tipped, dropping all the glasses. “Crap! Oh, Ren, I am so sorry!” 

While Ren was busy cleaning up the glass, Steve hauled Stark back to their table by his collar. “You might leave the person fixing everyone’s drinks alone, for public safety.” 

“But I’m leaving a full bottle of Hennessy up there!” protested the billionaire. 

“I’ll get it for you. You,” and Steve pushed him down firmly into his seat, “stay here!” 

Letting out a heavy sigh, he headed back to the bar. Stark had paid for that bottle. Hopefully the bartender would give it up if he was polite. Steve had never liked leaning on women. 

When he approached the bar, however, she shoved it at him. “I hope he chokes on it.” 

“I don’t. I have to share a ride home with him. But I understand the sentiment. Sorry about him.” Steve glanced back at Stark, who was busily telling Rhodes something. “He thinks he’s great with women.” 

“You don’t say,” grumbled the bartender. 

“Like I said, I’m sorry about him.” Steve reiterated. He took the bottle back to the table and thumped it down in front of Stark. “You’re still on water rations.” 

“Ouch! Put your manties on too tight this morning?” 

“Maybe he’s just tired,” Dr. Banner suggested. “You have been pretty busy tonight.” 

Before anyone could start an honest argument, Phillipa came up without her tray. “Jay says you said I have to sit with you.” 

Stark grinned. “That’s right. We hardly got to talk, yet, and everyone here is a friend of your dad. Well, except for those people, but they seem all right.” 

Glancing at the trio who had joined their group, Steve was not as sure as the billionaire. Jemma seemed fine, although oddly dressed, but Leo could be trouble, and Skye was just plain weird. How well Phillipa would enjoy their company was an entirely different question, but she did seem friendly with the rest of the staff and wore much the same clothes for her job, so perhaps it was going to be love at first sight. Then again, perhaps not. 

Phillipa was sitting rather stiffly in the chair Stark had dragged over with his foot for her. “I usually eat alone.” 

“All the more reason to eat with other people. But, I getcha. Eating alone means you can eat with your hands and lick your fingers all you like.” 

The look Phillipa gave him would have made Steve’s mother proud. “That’s what forks and napkins are for.” 

“Weird. I totally had you down as a girl who licks her fingers clean.” Stark looked contemplative for a long moment, and then frowned. “No, it’s probably better this way.” 

Steve was sure he could not be the only person staring at Stark like he was deeply disturbed in the head. Since the playboy seemed intent on ruling the conversation, Steve decided he had better move them into safer waters. The group (sans the newcomers) had been informed of Phillipa’s strange relationship with her father. Neither Clint nor Natasha had evinced surprise. That was definitely something to follow up on later. 

“Did you study voice with anyone?” he asked, cutting into the atmosphere and hopefully dispelling it completely. 

“No,” Phillipa answered, shaking her head to emphasize the negative. 

Steve cast about for a different question, to keep the conversation light and distinctly less weird, but then the waitress who seemed to be all gooey for Banner appeared with an enormous salad. She set it in front of Phillipa with a grin, along with a mint soda. With apparent foresight, Phillipa grabbed her small waist and spun her around, saying firmly, 

“Thank you, Lexi. Goodbye, Lexi.” 

“You do that well,” remarked Rhodes, almost leering. Phillipa did not deign to comment. Her attention seemed focused entirely on her salad. 

“Wait, are you going to eat all of that?” Stark asked. 

“Yes,” Phillipa said, digging her fork into the leafy greens. 

“Wow, I don’t think even Steve could finish that. Didn’t Pepper have a salad earlier? It wasn’t that big.” 

Not quite far enough away, the other waitress called, “That’s the Phillipa salad. It’s just for her.” 

“Lexi, beat it,” ordered the dark-haired woman who was dominating the stage tonight. She had the section next to Phillipa’s and was almost certainly keeping an eye on Lexi. Shaking a fist at the tiny waitress, she added, “Or I’ll tell Ren on you.” 

As the other girl flounced off, in a good imitation huff, Domino (was that her name?) adjusted a belt around her thigh. She seemed to belong to the half of the staff that wore a lot of tight leather and spikes. Both Phillipa and Lexi were the other half, with frills and lace. This girl looked like she could kick someone’s teeth out without breaking a sweat. 

“Does it need anything, little Phil?” she asked Phillipa. 

Phillipa shook her head and swallowed her mouthful. “No, it’s good. Thanks, Jessica.” 

“You don’t want dressing?” suggested Rhodes, but again, Phillipa indicated not. 

“I don’t like dressing.” 

“Neither does the Hulk,” Rhodes said and he and Stark snickered over the joke. Steve cut a glance over to Dr. Banner, but he was smiling faintly. 

“He certainly doesn’t like shirts,” was all the doctor said. 

“Maybe he just doesn’t like your taste in shirts,” Clint teased, but mildly. 

“Buttons aren’t his style,” agreed Banner. 

Steve would have expected Phillipa to be confused over the banter, but she was in leafy green bliss. The newcomers also appeared uninterested. Skye was openly staring at Phillipa, not caring who noticed. All three were certainly curious about her. Obviously Jemma and Leo knew how to be polite with their burning curiosity. 

When Phillipa came up for air, half of the salad already devoured, Skye seized the opportunity. “So, Miss Coulson, who was that guy teasing you earlier? He was way cute.” 

“At the bar?” Phillipa asked, looking calm. Steve suspected it was only a front and a fragile one at best. 

“No. He had the table over there- oh, I guess you can’t really see it from here.” 

Following the direction of her hand, Steve turned. There was only the edge of a table visible around one of the inset corners that peppered the club walls. Obviously, they gave privacy to those who wanted less exposure to the crowds. When he turned back, he noticed Phillipa looking too. 

“He left a little while ago,” Skye told her. “Maybe fifteen minutes?” 

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. 

“So, are you going out?” Skye pressed, rudely, but likely with all innocence. 

“What? No!” Phillipa shook her head fiercely. “No way.” 

Jemma raised a brow, the expression exaggerated by her darkly lined eyes. “He seemed. . . friendly.” 

To Steve’s amazement, Phillipa turned crimson and ducked her head. ‘Oh, no. I’m sure he was just kidding around.” 

“Aw, Mini-Phil has a crush,” Stark noted for the whole table. 

“I don’t!” Still red as a tomato, Phillipa tossed her head. “He’s just a regular here, that’s all.” 

“Is he regularly friendly?” teased Stark. 

“Don’t be silly! He hardly talks to anybody.” 

“But he talked to you,” Skye pointed out. 

“I was just taking his order. Really, don’t be ridiculous.” 

“He made you laugh about something, and I don’t think it was his drinks.” 

“Oh, that was. . .” Phillipa paused, obviously trying to recall. “Something about. . . oh, it’s been hours. I can’t remember what the joke was.” 

“Or it was dirty and you don’t want to admit it,” suggested Rhodes. 

“Ugh, no. I get enough of that from Lexi.” 

“Did somebody say my name?” asked the tiny waitress, popping up from who-knew-where. 

“Lexi, scram.” 

“Yes, you don’t want to hear about Phillipa’s admirer.” 

“Ooo, is that nasty guy back? I’ll get Ren to pound his head in for you.” For such a tiny person, she looked pretty feisty. 

“No, Lexi. We weren’t even talking about him. Now, go.” 

Instead, the little woman stood her ground. Steve was impressed. Hands on hips, she told Phillipa, “Nope. You’ll just have to tell me who’s been eying your perfection without me.” 

“Good grief! No one has!” 

“The guy who sat over there,” Skye told her, pointing. 

“Ooo, the strong, silent one? With the dark hair and blue eyes? Phil, you’ve been holding out on me!” 

“I haven’t. For- Look, he told me a joke! I don’t even remember it! If he was admiring me, he’s being pretty damn subtle, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, but that’s how you catch a little Phil. You ease your way in close, nice and quiet, and then you pounce!” So saying, Lexi jumped on Phillipa, nearly upsetting her chair. 

“Lexi, what did I tell you?” asked Jessica, marching over like a sergeant. 

“Oh, oh! I was going to stay away, but then Phil said my name- and hey, did you know that the strong, silent one likes little Phil? He told her a joke!” 

“And he touched her arm in a very friendly fashion.” Skye waggled her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.” 

“All right,” said Jessica, with more than a hint of frost in her tone. “Lexi, you know you’re not allowed over here. The rest of you, please be respectful of Phillipa’s privacy. If she wants to flirt with someone, or let someone flirt with her, that is her choice. It’s not something for you to entertain yourselves with.” 

She murmured to Phillipa, at a pitch probably too low for anyone save Steve to hear, “And if it is long, dark and bored, you had best watch yourself. He is beyond interested in you. Of course, that’s not a bad thing. He looks like a man who knows a thing or two about making women happy.” 

“Gross, Jessica,” Phillipa protested in a mini-scream. “He was just being nice!” 

“You are such an innocent,” Jessica declared loudly enough for the whole table to hear. She dropped a mock-kiss on Phillipa’s head. “That’s why we love you.” 

While Phillipa blushed for an entirely new reason, Jessica checked to see if anyone else wanted more refreshments. Steve ordered another of the grapefruit sodas, and Jemma gave her a tip for Ren. Freed from the intense scrutiny, Phillipa polished off her salad, quickly and quietly. Clearly, she intended to hurry back to work. 

Before she could, Natasha leaned toward her and asked softly, “Did your father call you Phillipa, then, that you changed your name?” 

“Oh. No, he called me Annie. He didn’t like Mary.” Phillipa’s whole posture softened. “He always said the other kids could make too much fun of Mary.” 

“Then why Phillipa?” inquired Clint. 

“She was his favorite character in Anne of the Island,” Phillipa explained, and Steve actually knew which book she was talking about. “He used to say she sorted herself out better than anyone else.” 

“Well, what happened to her, then?” asked Stark. 

“She married an ugly preacher, I think,” Steve told him. Phillipa almost sprayed her drink across the table. 

“That’s not the whole story!” she choked out between coughs. 

“Well, that’s a relief. I mean, I know dads are protective, but that’s not exactly the moral I was expecting.” Stark thought about it. “Of course, it’s better than him taking whatever weapon he can lay his hands on and chasing off every guy, ever. Leaves things open for the ladies, though. Hot lesbians must apply.” 

Natasha tsked, but not with any intensity. “Sexist.” 

“No man in his right mind would object to a hot chick sweeping his daughter off her feet,” Rhodes said emphatically. “No matter how weird he would feel about it later.” 

Steve almost asked what the hell they were talking about, but decided to call it a day on sounding ignorant. Besides, something was going on up at the stage. Once again, Lexi appeared out of thin air, bouncing more than a little. 

“Little Phil! Little Phil! Last song! Let’s go!” 

“Crap,” Phillipa muttered as Lexi dragged her away. 

Steve thought he heard Lexi add with extreme satisfaction, “And Jay says you will bounce your fine boobs right next me! I’m so happy!” 

“Last song?” Dr. Banner asked. Nodding urgently, Stark slammed down his water glass. 

“That means we get our asses on the dance floor, because all the girls will be up there for ogling.” He paused, and shook a finger at them. “But no ogling Phillipa, because that would be weird. This means you, Rogers.” 

“What the hell does he mean, ogling?” Steve demanded of Clint. With a slight smile, the archer explained, 

“He means to leer at without fear of retribution. Except from the bartender, of course. Rumor has it she’ll smash your head in.” 

“And they all love it,” Natasha chuckled. 

“Nothing wrong with that,” Stark told them, sounding almost indignant. “A strong woman is a sexy woman.” 

Again, Steve bit off his question. It was as though he understood all the words individually, but they made no sense aligned in that manner. He would think on it. Meanwhile, the whole group was headed for the dance floor, regardless of the crowding. Even the trio was coming along, although Jemma looked extremely reluctant. When Leo took her hand, she gave in. Steve wondered how long they had been a couple. 

“All right, Dark of the Moon,” Jessica called. “This is the last song I’ll do for your sorry asses! So get up here and dance for me!” 

There was laughter and applause, as well as some calls from the crowd that Steve knew were inappropriate, and not just the louse who shouted, “Take off your shirt!” Jessica responded to that with an extremely unladylike gesture. More laughs and catcalls followed. Then she brought up a hand to hush them. 

“Now, you all get to vote: who’s coming up on stage with me? I know you all know how to shout, but let’s see if you can count. One finger up for Kat, two fingers up for Lexi, and both hands up for Miss Coulson! Ready? Vote!” 

Hands went up across the floor. Steve, although not sure if his vote counted, put both of his hands up with the rest of the table. From what he could see, Phillipa would be joining Jessica on stage. A good portion voted for Kat, and Lexi had a decent minority going. Someone called out, 

“What about Ren?” 

“Ren informed me she would turn your intestines inside out if I considered any such suggestion. Anyone want to second the motion?” With a wink, Jessica said, “I thought not. Miss Coulson, get yourself up on this stage!” 

Obviously embarrassed, Phillipa climbed onstage with a boost from two of the other waitresses. Jessica handed her a microphone and gave her some instructions no one could hear. Then she turned back to the crowd. 

“Dark of the Moon, we all know there’s something different about us. Be serious, kids. We don’t all belong in that big world out there the way other people do. But when we’re in here, it’s they who don’t belong. So remember: no matter how lonely the wide world seems, there will always be more People Like Us!” 

She started the song. Phillipa joined in, and that was when Steve realized that she was actually singing. All night, Jessica had been moving her lips to the lyrics, but with Phillipa beside her, it became immediately obvious. 

“Hey, everybody loses it. Everybody wants to throw it all away sometimes. And hey, yeah, I know what you’re going through. Don’t let it get the best of you, you’ll make it out alive.” 

Jessica reached down to the other girls and pulled up Kat, while Phillipa grabbed Lexi. Clearly, this was a song they had practiced. And, from the looks of it, a dance that centered around Phillipa. 

“People like us, we’ve gotta stick together. Keep your head up, nothing lasts forever. Here’s to the damned; to the lost and forgotten. It’s hard to get high when you’re living on the bottom.” 

The entire dance floor joined in, then. This must be a ritual of some kind. Steve picked up the words quickly enough, ready for the next chorus. In a way, it was kind of fun. Outside of the boys that Bucky had always forced to be friendly toward him, he had always been the wimpy kid who no one wanted on their team. It was nice to feel a part of the group, even as a group that was outcast. 

“We are all misfits, living in a world on fire. Sing it for the people like us, the people like us. Oh, you just gotta turn it up loud when the flames get higher. Sing it for the people like us; the people like us.” 

By now, all of the waitresses were on the stage and Phillipa seemed to be the only one singing. The club loved it, and so did Steve. She had such a beautiful voice for something like this. From here, he could hardly see her expression, but he sensed through her voice that she was also enjoying herself, empowered by the music. Strange that he had never felt this way outside of church before. Singing the chorus with everyone else, he felt a connection; a sense of belonging that he had only encountered previously during the war, and the battle with Loki. 

All too soon, the song was over. Other dancers called out for more, but Phillipa shook her head. Jessica held her microphone up and then winked at everyone. Giving Phillipa a bump with her hip, she asked, 

“Are you all in need of another song?” 

“Yes!” shouted the club. 

“Well, then.” She nodded to someone offstage, and then suggested, “Perhaps you need to be reminded that you were Born This Way?” 

The waitresses jumped off the stage. With a little assistance from someone below, Phillipa slipped down less gracefully. Feet were stomping and all around him, Steve could sense that this was another song they all appreciated. Before it really got going, Stark grabbed his arm and nodded back toward the tables. The group followed them, making their way clear of the throng. 

“You don’t know the dance,” he explained when they were far enough away to hear each other. “Just watch this. It’s. . . well, it’s something, anyway. They came up with it before they even saw the video. Well, I say ‘they,’ but actually it was all Jay.” 

It was another fast song, something with a beat that moved bodies as well as feet. Starting with the staff and moving through the multitude, a choreographed dance was taking place. It was plain to see this was an even more popular piece. Everyone seemed to know where to move and when. It was also obvious, Steve was startled to note, that some of the people out on the floor were. . . different. 

“They don’t mind if a couple normies join in, but we’re too many,” Stark kept on explaining. “Although there’s nothing normal about you, Rhodey.” 

“Why, thank you, Tony.” Rhodes wiped away an imaginary tear and said in a fake choked up voice. “That means a lot to me, man.” 

“Normies?” Steve finally allowed himself to ask of Dr. Banner. 

“Oh, people who aren’t mutants. I think Tony means that they like to think of this as their own song, you know? Of course, Jay can join in, and so can the girls who work here. It’s clear they have no trouble with mutants, or they wouldn’t stay.” 

From farther back, Steve could discern the pattern of the steps. It had three distinctive parts, and each group from the center out went through them like a round. So, if a person knew which group they were in, they could find where their place easily. It did not look that hard to do, either, which explained its popularity. A few people on the fringes were doing their own thing, naturally. There was always one, so the saying went. 

He could also see that Phillipa was not dancing. Instead, she was over by the bar, talking quietly with Ren. With that bustle on, he supposed it would be too difficult to do the moves. Then again, she had told that jerk from earlier that she did not dance. Come to think of it, she had not danced during that other song, either. Perhaps she had not simply been being polite. 

When the song was done, Jessica left the stage, but music kept on playing. That may have been the last song the girls were performing, but the dancing must go on all night. Steve could hardly imagine keeping up with that kind of pace. Not that he had anyone to try it with, or knew any of the strange moves he had seen employed by the dancers in just the last two songs. 

“Well, we can hang out some more, or we can head on home,” Stark told everyone. “Most people leave now, unless they intend to dance all night. And unless the kitchen is really backed up, the girls finish service in the next half hour and you have to brave the bartender. Not that she is anything but charming.” 

“You are going to die,” Rhodes informed him. 

“But what a death it will be,” said Stark, in that same mushy tone from earlier. Even Natasha gave him a doubtful look. 

“You’re supposed to be our ride home. Die on your own time.” 

“Cruel,” rejoined Stark. “So, what’s it going to be cats and kittens? Oh, just in case it wasn’t clear, you’re a kitten, Rogers.” 

“That makes me twice as attractive as you,” Steve pointed out, just to tweak his tail- feline pun aside. 

“I take it back. You’re a mangy stray.” 

“No takebacks, man. That’s not cool,” Rhodes objected. 

“What are you, six?” 

“The ladies don’t mind it. At least they know what they’re signing up for.” 

Shaking his head, Stark said gravely, “And you attract twice the pedophiles.” 

“Scintillating as this conversation is,” Leo broke in, cool and bored as ever, “We’ll be staying. Thank you for the company.” 

“Yeah, thanks a ton,” Skye agreed heartily. 

Stark beamed. “You got it, kids. Try to stay out of trouble. Or not. I never do.” 

Natasha and Clint seemed set on heading out. So was Dr. Banner, but that was not shocking. Considering the things Lexi had asked him earlier, Steve was impressed that the doctor had not left there and then. Why the hell did she want to know if he turned “green all over,” anyway? 

Weirdly, Steve was not certain that he wanted to leave yet. Sure, Stark had been a complete ass the whole time, and there was that jerk who had bothered Phillipa, not to mention the weirdness of both Lexi and Skye- but there had also been good music that he had never heard before, getting the better of Stark in a bet and Phillipa herself, who seemed like a good kid. Speaking of-

He caught her at the bar, closing out tabs. When he tapped her shoulder, she turned quickly. So quickly, in fact, that she nearly tripped herself on that crazy skirt. She was still on edge, it seemed. 

“Oh, sorry. Did you need something?” 

“Actually, I wanted to ask how you were getting home tonight. Stark brought us all, so if you need a ride, I’m sure he’d give you one.” 

“Oh. Um.” She hesitated, flicking her eyes over to Ren. 

“I wouldn’t take a ride from that ass,” the bartender confirmed. “But you could, I guess. He seems to like you.” 

Steve rushed to assure her after that less than glowing review, “We could take you home first, if you’re worried about being alone with him. Uh, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about, really. He seems, um, occupied with someone else.” 

“I’ll give him occupied,” Red growled under her breath. Steve may have chosen his words poorly. 

“Well, uh, let me just check in with Jessica about it,” Phillipa said, nearly pleading. 

“No problem,” Steve said. While she did that, he went back to explain how he had offered up Stark’s limousine for him. 

Oddly, Stark just brushed it off. “Oh, that. Sure she can have a lift, if she wants one. She’s practically family. And, as a bonus, she’s clearing out my tab, so we can’t leave without her in more ways than one!” 

Jessica came over to deliver her verdict on the subject. Whatever she said to Stark, very quietly in the corner where Phillipa’s supposed admirer had sat, he just nodded and looked completely serious. Steve wondered how she got him to obey, and if it was only women who could get that kind of behavior out of him. 

“She’s promising to remove the entirety of his genitals if anything happens to Phillipa, in case you were wondering,” Natasha said, watching the exchange with more than her usual glee. Steve resisted the urge to step slightly away. 

“Well, she is Phil’s daughter, so I think she’ll have to get in line,” Clint murmured to her. “It’s a good tactic, though. He ought to know that someone is making sure he does what he’s supposed to.” 

Phillipa returned Stark’s credit card, and then went to change her clothes. While they waited, Steve watched the trio. They seemed content to sit and talk quietly amongst themselves. Actually, Skye was doing all the talking, while Leo and Jemma eyed one another across the table. Those two had to have been together for quite a while to be able to talk without speaking. 

Finally, Phillipa came back, dressed in the T-Shirt and black pants she had worn while playing piano. Her make-up had been completely removed, and her hair was now in a simple ponytail, although kinked from the braid she had been wearing before. She also had a book held tightly in one hand. 

“Ready to go?” Stark asked, looking more sober than he ought to, given all he had imbibed tonight. “All right, people, last call for the bathrooms.” 

On cue, Banner and Rhodes both discovered a need for the toilet. Shrugging, Natasha went as well. Since Clint followed her everywhere, it was no surprise that he also headed in that direction. Tilting his head, and then with a shrug of his shoulders, Stark made his way to the bathroom too. Steve was left standing alone by Phillipa. He felt slightly uncomfortable, without being certain why. Perhaps it was the self-conscious look on her face making him feel awkward. 

“Um, can I ask you a favor?” she burst out after a minute of silence. 

“Uh, okay. Sure.” He grinned, trying to dispel the weird feeling. 

She opened the book and held up a card in a clear plastic cover. “Could you sign this for me? Actually, it’s not for me. It’s for my dad. It was his, and he always wanted. . . Oh, this is way awkward, isn’t it?” 

Now Steve’s grin was abashed. “It’s a Captain America Trading Card, right?” 

She ducked her head. “Yeah. My dad gave it to me before he- for my sixth birthday.” 

Carefully, Steve took the card. Unlike the cards Coulson had wanted him to sign last year, this one showed no damage at all. No foxing, no discoloration- it was pristine. 

As he looked at it, Phillipa felt the need to explain further. “It was his best one. I didn’t really care about them- um, sorry- but I knew they meant a lot to him. So, it meant a lot to me that he gave me the perfect one.” 

“Do you have the others?” Steve asked, as he pulled a pen from his pocket. 

“No,” she said sadly. “At first I thought my mother- but then Dad’s partner, um, said- I think his name was Sitwell- he said that they were caught up in some bureaucratic stuff. So, I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again.” 

With great care, Steve slid the card from its holder and signed the front “To both Phil’s- Captain America.” He made sure he didn’t sign over his face. On the Internet, he had read that such signatures were less valuable. If Phillipa ever desperately needed cash, he wanted to make it as easy as possible for her to get a good deal. 

She took the card from him as gingerly as he had accepted it himself. Smiling a little sadly, she commented, “If only my dad could see it. I bet it would have made his day.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed without enthusiasm, also a bit downhearted. “I just bet it would.” 


	15. Concentration

Settling himself on his throne, Loki eyed his rooms dispassionately. Changes would be necessary for his bride. A place such as this was not right for a woman. She needed something. . . sensual. Of course, the bed was perfect for its purposes, but he could not keep her there indefinitely. Although that idea had a certain appeal. . . 

No, she would require a little space to read, and a garden outside. That, at least, he had begun. By the time he brought her home, it would be in glorious bloom. Perhaps a little more room to place things of her own, though he was aware she had very few. Some shelves, he decided thoughtfully. And a couch for her to lie upon, hair tumbling down and throat beautifully exposed, ready for his lips to caress and teeth to bite. Then again, the bed might be enough after all. 

He attempted to concentrate on the task at hand. Some drapes, in silk, soft as the skin of her breasts- this was not helping. With a sharp intake of breath, Loki had to admit defeat. It had only been a few hours, and yet he wanted to see her again. No, it was more than a wish; it was a compulsion he could hardly control. As he had already told her, she was intoxicating. 

Very well, he would look in on her. She would be sleeping by now, of course, but it should lay the desire for a time. If it did not, he was well-versed in tending to his own lust. Soon, she would be as well. 

With utmost care, he removed the thin veil from the mirror. This had been an expensive present to himself many years ago. When he had first heard of his betrothal, Thor had taken advantage of his nerves to suggest that his bride might be extremely ugly. Although doubtful, Loki simply had to find out the truth of the matter. Gallingly, he had been forced to perform actual labor to obtain the means to find the truth. Dwarves were disgustingly hard-headed about such things. Loki persevered, being a small amount of stubborn in his own right. 

The mirror would reflect whatever he asked of it, providing he knew the correct words. While the glass and frame were dwarven made, the spells were a mixture of crumbling scrolls in Odin’s library and his own cunning twists of purpose. Not only, therefore, could he see what he sought, but he could hear as well. In the right circumstances, he could also use it as a passageway, far safer than most that led between Asgard and Midgard. 

She had still been quite young the first time he had found her in the glass. Miffed at the prospect of being wed to an infant, he had nearly avoided the subject all together. But when Thor pressed his case, Loki relented to his childish need to get the whole picture. No matter the outcome, he had tried over and over to remind himself, he would still be wedding her. 

Regardless of his reservations, he had gone to Midgard to meet her. She was too youthful to know the truth of the situation, but it had hardly mattered. From his first conversation with her, he had been lost to adoration. Beauty he had understood her to possess, but she had been instantly charmed by him. She had gazed on him as one captivated. No one had ever found him preferable to any other company before. Loki had known then: he would never want any other. 

Shaking himself from his memories, he instructed the mirror to show his bride. Of course, he knew her face so well, he often saw it in his dreams. Such vivid visions that graced his slumber; they were compelling in their own right. Until he had felt moved to speak to her by her obvious desire, reverie had been the only place where they could meet. Now that he had touched her skin, pressed lips to hers, felt her heartbeat racing beneath his fingers. . . imagery, no matter how intense, could never be enough. 

The mirror showed him the interior of her bedroom, as he had expected. However, she was not deep in slumber. Instead, she was sitting on her floor beside her window, curled up with her knees hugged tight to her chest. Loki peered closer, spotting tears on her cheeks. So, she was still in pain. Fortunately, he would release her shortly.


	16. Desire

Phillipa tried to stop wallowing in her sorrow, but she did not seem able to. It had to be after two in the morning, and she was still curled up on the floor. Not that she did not have good reason to be down there. Just sitting on the bed had reminded her of Fred and how he had pawed through all of her things and meant to paw her, as well. Shuddering, she wondered how she was going to keep on living in the apartment, knowing how close he was.

It was so unjust. After everything else that had happened in her life, why did that utter bastard have to wreck things now? She had lived for ten years with a mother who alternated between hate and love with no apparent pattern. Then she had been alone and unwanted for a further two, and still devastatingly shy for yet another two years. She was only just learning to trust people. Why did he have to ruin it? Why did she not get to have a happy ending?

Was it true, then, what her mother had said? Was it somehow all her own fault? Did Phillipa really deserve all of this agony? Would there come a day when everyone would simply turn away and abandon her? And would she be able to live through that a second time?

The softest touch on her shoulder made her jump and shiver. She thought, for just a moment, that it was only a spiderweb. Then, looking behind her, she froze.

“Now, now. You have nothing to fear from me,” murmured her admirer, towering over her. 

At least, he looked like her admirer. But his dress was all wrong. Instead of his trademark tailored black wool coat over a white buttoned down shirt and black tie and dress pants, he was wearing some kind of dark leather and quilting jacket over a tunic of yet more leather with leather pants and some impressive boots. The outfit looked hot, literally.

“What are you- why are you. . ?” Phillipa could not quite work out the question she wanted to ask.

He offered her a hand, and she took it without thinking. In one swift movement, he had her in his embrace, facing away from him. His arms wrapped possessively over her belly, barely beneath her breasts. When she gasped and began to struggle, he put his lips to her ear.

“I told you, my own, you have nothing to fear from me. Be at peace.” He nipped at her earlobe, raising goosebumps on her flesh. “I saw you weeping and I could not stay away. Tell me: you desire something now, do you not? What is it?”

“I- You-” She tried to follow him, but found she had little capacity for it at this hour. “I’m just tired.”

“What of?” he murmured. “Tell me.”

Weakly, Phillipa gave in to the command. “I don’t want to feel this anymore. I don’t want to cry all the time and be afraid. I want to feel something else- anything else.”

“Anything? That is a dangerous phrase, my own. Are you certain?”

Hesitant still, Phillipa tried to turn to see his face, but he held her captive. “I- yes. Anything but the fear and loneliness.”

In response, he brought his hands up to cup her breasts. “Then let me take your solitude away, my perfect bride. I will make you mine, and you will never be alone again.”

Before she could think to protest, he was using nimble fingers to pull at her erect nipples. She had not realized that being so close to him had brought them to stiff peaks, but he knew. As he gently pinched and tugged, she wondered if this was purely unsolicited, or if she had wanted it all along. Nowhere consciously did she make room to ponder how he had entered her apartment, or even known where she lived. He was making it hard enough to think about telling him not to continue.

She was still pressed tightly against him, even as he caressed and teased her chest. When a particularly resonant pinch brought her head back in arousal, he made certain to kiss at her exposed neck. As usual, he began nipping and biting at the base of her throat. The time to protest had passed, Phillipa decided, when he pushed his lips against hers and she hungrily kissed him back.

Panting, she allowed him to remove her shirt without any argument. He looked down at her bra and underwear in mild perplexity. At first she thought it was because they were hardly her best things, but then he made the strange comment,

“You mortals wear far too much clothing.”

“You’re one to talk,” she quipped, and was dazed by her audacity.

With one of those rich chuckles that always turned her knees to jelly, he returned to massaging her breasts. “Shall I do something about that? Tell me you want it.”

He gave her plenty of time to choose to obey, continuing to turn her insides to fire with his skilled hands and insistent lips. When she had taken too long to answer, however, he turned rougher. Gathering up her hair in one hand, he pulled her head back sharply. She hissed, arching her back. Since when was she this kinky?

“Tell me you want to feel my naked flesh pressed against you,” he ordered in a harsh tone.

For a moment, Phillipa was abashed. He bit down hard on her shoulder, startling a cry from her lips. Again, he told her what to say, and then allowed his lips to linger over the spot he had bitten. Lost in her own rising lust, Phillipa gave in.

“I want to feel you. Please, master.”

Suddenly the very air seemed to tense up. Her admirer brought his head up slowly. Honestly surprised herself at the words that had burst from her lips, she averted her eyes in shame. Was it wrong? Had she gone too far?

“So that is what you wish,” was his only comment. Then he practically ripped her underthings from her body. She hardly got a moment to breathe, let alone defy him.

Somehow, while tearing off her clothes, he had removed his as well. He pulled her to him, and she felt hot all over, and for some reason, safe. Against her rear, she could feel something long and hard, which seemed almost to rub itself against her. It must be his penis, and it felt enormous, when she compared it mentally to where it was supposed to fit.

Still, he remained on second base. She writhed a bit in his arms, wanting more than he was giving her. Although she could hear him laughing softly at her, Phillipa hardly cared. She was so damn aroused. His hands went where she thought she wanted, but when he reached between her legs, she put her own hand over his. Was she ready to be touched in so intimate a place?

Roughly, he grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand up to shoulder height. “You will do as I say.”

“I don’t- I’m not-”

“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice deep and commanding. “Do it.”

His free hand was already sliding through her pubic hair, rubbing the sensitive skin beneath. Meanwhile, his teeth had left their mark all over her shoulders and neck. Feeling strangely disconnected from her body and its lust, Phillipa nevertheless knew she wanted him to keep touching her. No matter what this led to.

“No, please don’t stop.”

He slid a finger between her wet outer lips and suggested, “Then tell me: what do you want?”

“I want-” Phillipa shuddered as he found a sensitive spot and squeezed her breast at the same time. “I don’t want you to stop. Please, make me feel more.”

As he circled the sensitive spot with his finger, he nibbled along her jawline. His other hand pulled on her wrist, more gently this time, until her arm was twisted up behind her back. From this position, he forced her to bend forward. Once he felt her to be arranged as he liked, he again gave her an order.

“Stay just like that. You certainly are going to feel more. Much, much more.”

When she tried to turn her head to look, he delivered a firm smack on her ass. Startled, she jumped slightly. He swatted her other side, with equal firmness. She caught herself before she could flinch and he rewarded her by rubbing her bottom with a soothing hand.

“When you are good,” he assured her, “You will be rewarded. And if you are disobedient, you will be severely punished.”

“Yes, master,” she said meekly, all the while amazed by her own submissiveness.

He returned to fondling between her legs, this time much more easily because of her position. Even as his fingers slid effortlessly through her rapidly moistening slit, he was caressing her ass. Phillipa began to wonder if she had given in too simply, too soon. Then he inserted a finger into her vagina.

It hurt at first, and she tensed against the pain. He bent himself over her, kissing at the nape of her neck. Gently, his free hand stroked feather-soft against her cheek.

“Relax,” he ordered calmly. “It will become easier to bear soon.”

“But-” she began, only to feel another heavy smack on her ass. Gasping, she bucked her hips, inadvertently shoving his finger in deeper.

“I knew you would enjoy that,” he remarked with a smirk in his tone, and slapped her ass again. She tried, but Phillipa could not stop her reflex, nor her whimper. His dark chuckle made her shiver, and he ran his left hand gently over her back.

Just as he had promised, in mere moments it no longer hurt to have his finger inside of her. It did feel strange, however. It was so hard and long, and seemed to always be probing at the walls of her vagina. Whatever he was probing for, he returned to also touching the outside of her vagina quickly enough, now that she was more relaxed. Almost at once, he found her sensitive spot, which she now understood must be her clitoris. How did he know how to turn her limp with desire so quickly?

“Buck your hips against my finger,” was his next command.

A little awkwardly at first, but with increasing competence, she moved her hips back and forth. Something about the very act was erotic, and she realized that it was probably how it would feel to be fucked by him. Except that she had already felt his penis hard against her bottom, and it was so much bigger than his finger. Would he fuck her now: push himself inside of her and shoot off inside of her too?

However, he was not hardly finished with her yet. Just when she thought she was going to have an orgasm at last, he pulled his finger from within her. He brought it to her lips and demanded that she suck it clean. While she did not feel this was very arousing, she obeyed. As she licked and sucked, he gave her very specific instructions.

“No teeth. Yes, that is the way. Now lick the outside gently. Little flicks of your tongue and no more. Take it back in your mouth. Suck it hard. Harder. Now swirl your tongue around. Mmm, I knew you would be good at this.”

He grabbed a handful of her hair and said, “You want to have my cock inside of you now. Beg me for it.”

She let his finger slip from her mouth in shock. Of course she had thought about it, but how could she take something so big? Could she give her virginity to him?

“If you do not tell me you want it,” he hissed, pulling her face to his, “I will take it from you by force. Beg me to take you and I will be gentle.”

“I-” Phillipa paused, looking at him with fear. Would he really-

“I said, beg me!” This time, he yanked her upright by her hair and smacked her bottom with no kindness. She had hardly got over the first tingle when another followed. He meant it. Fumbling for the words, Phillipa hurried to give him what he wanted. Still, she was half a dozen spanks behind.

“Please- please, master. . . Please put your cock in me and fuck me.” She swallowed hard, ashamed to have asked for such a thing.

He only smiled, though, and made no move to force himself inside of her. Instead, he pulled her in close, tenderly rubbing her ass with both hands. The soreness felt delicious, especially the way he kneaded her skin. And his penis was pressed against her belly. It felt sensually hot and hard. She bit back the moan that threatened to expose her.

“You lack conviction,” he murmured to her, laughing a little. “You do not really want my cock pounding into you. Not tonight. But you have been very good, and now you will have your reward.”

Again, with sudden swiftness, he changed her position. He pushed her down onto the edge of her bed. The cheap sheets felt extra rough to her sore bottom, but she had no time to protest before he covered her body with his.

Starting with deep, tongue-twining kisses that left her feeling completely overwhelmed, he moved his mouth down her body. Quite some time was spent licking and sucking on her breasts. It occurred to her as he nipped at her nipples gently that he really, really liked her chest. So, a part of her body was desirable to men, at least.

Then he slowly went down further, running his tongue on almost a straight line between her breasts and her vagina. He circled her bellybutton, which she had heard of and dismissed as unexciting. In the heat of the moment, though, she understood it differently.

His fingers spread her outer lips for his tongue. But first, he seemed to be taking a long look. Embarrassed by all the attention, Phillipa covered her face with her hands.

The bed creaked as he moved back up to pull her hands from her eyes. “Watch me.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, not wanting another punishment.

Tenderly, he kissed her nose. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You are so beautiful. I would spend all of my life looking at you.”

Flush with confusion, mortification, and the tiniest hint of adoration, she kept her eyes on him as he returned to his business. Once more, he looked at her for what felt like an extremely long time. Finally, he closed his eyes and began licking up her juices. He seemed to relish the taste.

He was definitely more interested in getting her going, however. Every lick that brought a gasp, sigh or moan from her lips was repeated. He even watched her face as he sucked at her clitoris, which was by now erect enough for his lips to encircle.

In the midst of it all, he slipped his finger back into her vagina. Another followed shortly thereafter. He slid the fingers in and out slowly, and then with increasing speed. She could hardly believe they fit, let alone the way her body was reacting. He must have known, because he had laid an arm across her hips to hold her down and pull her to his mouth. Even so, Phillipa kept bucking her hips when he caught her clitoris just right. It was the most intense feeling she had ever experienced.

“Oh! I- I think I’m going to-” Phillipa bit back a shout, concentrating on not alerting the entire floor to their activities.

He raised his head from her clitoris just long enough to give one final command. “Do it for me.”

As she found herself reaching orgasm, Phillipa began to feel a deep craving to be filled with something- anything. She was beyond words by now, and could hardly have known what to ask for. It was only a sensation, which passed as she achieved bliss only moments later.

Had she thought this orgasm would be her only one, she would have been quite wrong. He was intently focused on her clitoris, and somehow or other kept her going for two more waves of release, even when she practically screamed for him to stop. Then, when he had thoughtfully lapped up the evidence, she knew what it was she wanted next. Raising herself up onto her elbows, she pleaded,

“May I touch you too, master?”

He helped her to sit up, and pulled her close to him. For a little while they kissed, and she shyly ran her hands over his face and through his luscious hair. He encouraged her in exploring his chest, letting her kiss and touch wherever she pleased. Although still embarrassed, she wanted to know the feel of him. His body was toned, but not overly muscular, and to the touch was almost as smooth as she was. His sparse chest hair added a hint of texture. All too soon, he took her hand and guided it to his penis. She followed his every direction, watching his face become more and more blissful.

“You have such soft hands. Yes, just like that,” he moaned, changing from her dark lover to a man lost in carnal pleasures.

“Is it. . . is it good?” she asked, still a little tentative. He wrapped his hand around hers, forcing her to firm up her grip.

“This way. Rub there, just under the head. Yes, use your thumb to caress me. Ah!”

Phillipa looked at him again, worried that she had been too enthusiastic, but he grabbed her then, pulling her in for a searing kiss. Even as his tongue swirled in her mouth, she kept up the rhythm he had set for her. She wanted very much to see him orgasm as she had.

“Sit there,” he ordered abruptly, pulling away from her hand. He stood over her. Realizing what was coming, she opened her mouth eagerly.

“Do you want it?” he demanded.

“Oh yes, master, give it to me,” she pleaded.

“Stick out your tongue and lick it,” he ordered, and she complied immediately.

There was a hint of salt and a touch of bitterness, but not enough to stop her from pleasing him as best she could. She lapped all over his penis, encouraged by his sharp intake of breath whenever she found just the right spot. Although he had not told her to do so, she also cupped his balls in one hand, cautiously caressing them.

He grabbed her hair again, using it to guide her. As he seemed to want, she opened her mouth and sucked in the head of his penis. She hardly felt able to fit much more inside. However, she went to it with a will as he tugged at her hair, urging her to bob her head back and forth over as much as she could take in.

Soon enough, he pulled out. He pushed her down on the bed roughly and she wondered if he meant to fuck her after all. Somehow, she did not mind it any longer. Instead, he began stroking his own penis, pointing the head slightly downward, toward her chest. Helpfully, she reached up to aid him.

“Yes! Oh, yes, stroke it with me! Ah! I am- Yes, here it comes! I am going to cum!”

Only a few more strokes later, he shot several loads of semen onto her breasts. Phillipa was amazed by how hot it felt on her skin. He eased her hand off of his penis, to her slight disappointment. It had felt so strong in her grip. When he was finished, he knelt down and began licking up all of his semen, much to her wonder. He even bit playfully at her nipples. Then he kissed her, and she could taste him strongly.

Hardly had they stopped tasting each other when he went down on her again. She surrendered completely to his tongue and fingers. What was there to protest at this point? The only thing he had not done, so far as she knew was standard, was fuck her. And now, strangely enough, she thought she would enjoy it. Especially when he bit at her thigh to keep her mind from wandering. His tongue returned to her clitoris, coaxing her to keep her full attention on the way he brought her to orgasm with so little effort.

At last they were both sated. He curled up beside her on the bed, putting an arm around her to hold her near. She rested her head against his shoulder and tried not to think of how she was going to explain all these bruises. Softly, she turned her head and planted a kiss on his chest. There was a quiet chuckle from him, and he ran his fingers through her hair in reply.

“Was that to your liking?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Yes.” She pushed herself up slightly to look at his face, shadowed though it was. “How did you know- well, everything?”

Smiling, he slid his hand from her shoulder down her arm to twine his fingers with hers. “I have waited for years for this. Do you think I would not prepare? You, my own, deserve only the very best.”

Made shy by the adoring tone, she ducked her head and looked at him through her lashes. “Do I?”

He pulled her down on top of him, but not in a sexual manner. “You deserve all this and more, my own. And I swear to you, I will give it. You are- you are my own.”

“Your own what?” she queried in a whisper. Brushing his lips against hers, he answered in an equally soft voice.

“My heart’s own.”


	17. The Incredible Never-Hung-Over Stark

He would not have thought it possible, but when Stark called him the next morning, Steve found that the man had some kind of inhuman ability to ignore hangovers. Or he was just skilled in hiding his symptoms. Either way, it was only ten and Stark wanted Steve to come over and look at some specs. Well, it was his funeral. Steve went.

When he arrived, however, Stark handed him a folder that was not weapon or armor specifications. Emblazoned on the front was the black SHIELD eagle, covered with a red “Classified” stamp. It was simply titled, “Phillipa Anne Coulson.” Shocked, Steve demanded,

“Did you read this?”

“Yeah, I did. Yell at me about my morals later, and read it. This is important.”

Suspicious, he still gave in. He had to admit to being as curious as Stark about several aspects of Phillipa’s life that she had left unsaid. As he read through the files, Stark kept tinkering with some new gadget for his suit, at one point putting a hole in the wall with a laser and remarking,

“Huh, it wasn’t supposed to do that.”

In the other room, Pepper started an over-the-intercom argument with Stark about his toys. Somehow that was not hindering Steve’s concentration. He had always been a quick reader, and even more so since the serum. For whatever scientific reason, he was able to read twice as fast and still retain all the information. In under an hour, he was finished with bulk of her childhood.

As she had previously hinted: it was sad story. After Coulson left, his wife fell apart. Unfortunately, Mary (Phillipa’s childhood name) had not had the same luxury. She covered for her mother’s increasingly dysfunctional lifestyle and provided as much of her own care as possible. According to some psychologist’s notes, this left her isolated from her peers and nearly incapable of having friendships. Steve could understand that. If she had always needed to lie, she would have felt like a fraud. What kind of relationship could be maintained when built on lies?

Then he came to her mother’s suicide. “Oh my God.”

“Damn. I had a twenty on you actually swearing. You don’t want to try that again? I’ll give you five,” Stark persuaded.

“How can you joke about this?” Steve demanded, holding up the incident report.

“I’m not joking. I hate it when Pepper wins every bet.”

“Stark, you are going way too far. When her mother killed herself, Phillipa-”

Raising a finger, Stark went to look out the window. “JARVIS, we are clear, aren’t we?”

“No spyware detected, sir,” said the smooth security voice.

“Yeah, you said that last time. I don’t know who SHIELD is employing lately, but they’re talented. Oh well. I’m going to presume that software I designed last weekend was good enough. You were saying, Rogers?”

“She cut her belly open with a kitchen knife! Right in front of someone who was trying to talk her down!” Steve said angrily. “She almost succeeded in killing herself, and you are making this into one big laugh.”

“I’m not. No, straight up, I’m not.” Stark shook his head. “Why do you think I’m showing you this? After I read that this morning, and seeing her performance last night, I’m worried.”

“Why?”

“Because of the next page,” Stark told him, pointing out the next document.

Steve read it. Then he did so again. It still made no sense. How could she possibly not remember any of it? She had told them about it! Or had she?

“Lost her memory of the whole thing, from the moment she opened her front door,” Stark clarified. “That explains how she could tell us about some of it.”

“But how?”

Shrugging, Stark started tinkering with the unidentified gadget again. “Big stressors can trigger all kinds of weird brain activity. It’s like a defense. No, wait- better analogy: it’s like an oyster. Get a little grit in there, and to protect its sensitive organs, it’ll coat that grit with something smooth- disguise it, if you like. Phillipa’s brain thinks of that incident like a dangerously sharp object that will tear up the rest of her mind. So, it covered it over with a smooth oblivion shell.”

“But she has to remember it sometime.”

“Well, yes. And then again, no.” Stark waved a screwdriver at him. “I’m not a psychologist, but I do know that there’s a hell of a lot of selection in human memory. Unlike a computer chip, her brain can rewrite itself. She may never remember exactly what happened.”

Steve considered this idea. While it sounded a bit crazy, he had to admit there were things in his past that he knew had not happened the way he recalled. If this was a natural response, then perhaps it was not all bad. When he ventured this opinion, Stark clucked his tongue.

“Yeah, no. Admittedly, I thought like that for about five seconds, but you remember her second song? From the moment I saw her eyeliner, I knew those tears were genuine. I didn’t need you to tell me that much. And that’s normal- I mean, who needs a total asshole creeping you out? Young women, especially, don’t need that. The thing that bothers me is what she was singing about.”

What about the bartender, Steve wondered. “What do you mean, what she was singing about?”

“Obviously,” Stark said haughtily, “She was singing about her dad.”

“I know that. What about that is bothering you?”

Sighing, Stark put the gadget down. It put another hole in the wall. This time they could both hear Pepper shouting in her office.

“God- Damn it, Tony! Do that in your workshop!”

“It was him,” Stark told her when she yanked open his door, pointing his finger at Steve.

Pepper glared. “No, it wasn’t. He’s not an arrogant bastard.”

“Well- you- He doesn’t pay you, either.”

“Then fire me!” She went back to her desk.

Behind her, she left a silence rife with words unspoken, not the least of which was the fact that she had broken up with Stark. Steve absolutely did not want to ask why. Given how the whole affair had turned Stark into a real jerk, he would put real money on talking it over just making it worse. Lately, Stark was more insensitive than witty, and it did not seem likely to change any time soon. Without Pepper to rein him in, Stark was by turns overly sharp and generous to the point of annoyance. He just could not get his balance lately, and Steve had no idea how to help. But Stark was his friend, and he could not just push him away because he was an ass.

With this awareness in the air, the two men avoided one another’s eyes for a moment. Sometimes friends knew too much about one another for comfort. Then, coughing, the inventor picked up Phillipa’s folder.

“Anyway, Phillipa has trouble with her emotions. She also doesn’t have a lot of friends. And according to a great PBS documentary I saw a few days ago, the people most likely to commit suicide are those who feel they don’t belong. This is just a guess, you understand, but I’d say Mini-Phil fits that category pretty well. So, if she spends a lot of time lingering over the fact that she has no one- well, it doesn’t take a genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist to figure out what she might do.”

Steve forbore to comment on Stark’s sudden need to talk himself up. “What are we going to do about it?”

“I like that you say ‘we.’ It’s endearing. Actually, I was going to ask Bruce if he knew someone we could recommend Mini-Phil to. She really needs someone to talk to, and I don’t have the time- which is weird, because I’m sure I had more leisure hours a few weeks ago.”

Biting his tongue, Steve did not point out that Pepper had broken up with the inventor a few weeks ago. She probably felt it would serve him right to do more of his own legwork. Actually, Steve was a bit surprised that she had come with them to the club last night. Of course, she had left quite early, but all the same, it was not what he had expected to happen.

“I could talk to her,” he reminded Stark.

“You?” Stark stared. “What do you know about giving advice to young adults?”

“I lost my parents when I was young, too,” Steve pointed out stubbornly. “I understand how she feels.”

“No you don’t! She was in foster care- that didn’t even exist when you were a kid. And your mother wasn’t a drunk. And- and you don’t even know who the Beatles are! You can’t possibly relate.”

Steve gave him a bemused and irritated look. “What are you talking about? Relating to people has nothing to do with knowing hippie bands. It’s about empathy, Stark. I know you’re short on it, but don’t judge the rest of the world by your failings.”

“I am not short on- wait. You know the Beatles?”

Smug, Steve told him, “British boy band from the 60’s and 70’s. Started out in West Germany, and then became the head of the ‘British Invasion,’ in the U.S.”

“Who the hell are you and what did you do with Rogers?”

“Very funny. I’m not totally lost in this century.” Checking his watch, Steve added, “And I’m going to Dark of the Moon tonight. I’ll talk to Phillipa.”

Baffled, Stark could only push his own agenda. “Well, you shouldn’t tell her that you know about her entire childhood. She’ll think you’re a stalker. So, here’s what you do. . .”

While nodding and shaking his head in all the right places, Steve calmly let all of Stark’s advice slide right through his ears. Empathy did not need instructions. Besides, how hard could it be to talk with Phillipa at the club? She had been busy last night, but still had time to chat.

He headed out shortly after Stark finished his to-do list. While on his way home to change into something nicer, he pulled out his phone. Last week, Agent Hill had walked him through sending a message on the device. As extra practice, he typed up a careful thank-you for her music introduction last month. It had come in handy much sooner than he had expected.


	18. Dazed

Phillipa woke up amazingly sore. Service had been hectic last night, and bustles were no woman’s friend, but that did not exactly explain all her aches. Wincing, she sat up slowly. Her blanket slipped off of her and she had another surprise: she was nude.

After a moment, she spotted her clothes in the corner by her desk. When and why had she removed them? It was chilly- too chilly to sleep naked. Already she was shivering.

She got up and limped her way to the closet. Her thighs hurt too, which made no sense. Last night had been about average in terms of lifting and walking, so why were her legs so wobbly? She grimaced as she knelt to pick up some pajamas that did not fit into her dresser.

“Cold without me?”

Phillipa looked up, experiencing a strange wave of déjà vu. Tall, dark-haired and gloriously nude, her admirer was watching her with plainly smug satisfaction. Suddenly, the rest of the previous night came back to her, and she turned bright red. He seemed to feel no awkwardness, and reached down to pull her to her feet.

“I-”

“Shh. You need not say anything.” He held her close, leaning down to kiss and nip at her lips. “I know a world without me is bereft of joy.”

She tried to stifle it, but the giggle escaped. Smiling, he reached around to tickle her ribs. As she gasped and squirmed, he took advantage of her lax defenses to steal further kisses. She relaxed into him, happy to be molested in this fashion.

“Naughty girl,” he murmured to her, pulling his lips away. “You will find yourself back on your bed in a moment. Are you so ready to be taken by me?”

With a small, excited shudder, she shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Ah, and that leaves the possibility that I can prepare you.” His hold tightened, and his gaze became intense. “Shall I persuade you here and now?”

Remembering how well she had enjoyed their activities of the night before, Phillipa nearly gave in. She knew a part of her believed she loved him, but she was not yet prepared to allow the thought more time. If she could hold off that moment, perhaps sanity would take its proper hold once more.

“No. I need to get dressed.” She avoided his questioning look. “I have things to do.”

“As do I,” he said abruptly, releasing her. “It will be another week before I return to your club.”

“What?” she asked, unprepared. “You’re leaving?”

He tilted his head back, eyes cold. “As I said, I have business that will not wait.”

“Oh.” Phillipa’s eyes fell to the floor. She ought to have known. He had what he wanted from her. Like everyone else, once they were satisfied, it was over.

He caught hold her chin, forcing her gaze upwards. “And yet, you are distressed that I would depart?”

“Yes,” she admitted, unable to lie.

“Do not think that I separate myself from you of my own volition, my heart’s own,” he insisted quietly. “I would give everything to lie beside you forevermore. But there is a time and place for all things, and our time has not yet come.”

“Then, you will come back?” She hated the plea in her question; hated how desperate she felt at the thought of his leaving.

“For you, I would defy them all,” he said. “Just to hear your sweet voice, I would surrender all. Believe me, my own.”

Perhaps it was weakness, but Phillipa felt that she could trust his words. She tried, therefore, to buck up. If he had no other choice, she should not make it difficult by acting the child. Still, when he embraced her, she clung to him. Unwilling as she was to admit her growing entrapment, she did not want to let him go. What if it all was a lie? Was she so easy to leave behind?

“Shh,” he urged kindly, when she started to cry. “A week, and no more. When I return, I will have a gift for you, my own. Something to show all longer than my marks upon your skin that you belong only to me.”

Wiping her tears away, Phillipa tried to joke her way out of the situation. “And what will you wear to show that you belong to me?”

Bending over her, he whispered in her ear, “Nothing at all.”

Eyes wide, Phillipa felt the blood rushing to her cheeks. He laughed at her expression, enjoying his jest. If, she thought to herself, it was a jest. He had been rather quick with the answer.

She had to use the restroom, and by the time she returned, he was dressed. In the light, his dark costume was a mixture of green, gold and black. Also, he had quite a bit of metal on, which she had not previously noticed. He pulled her in close for a final kiss and she squeaked at the cool, smooth material pressing into her warm flesh. In response, he chuckled against her lips and held her tighter.

“Soon,” he promised when they came up for air. “And should any mortal bother you, you may tell him that Loki Laufeyson shall have his heart.”

“Loki,” she repeated, feeling yet another burst of déjà vu. He ran his left thumb over her lips, searching her face.

“Say my name,” he ordered.

“Loki.”

“Say my name,” he repeated.

“Loki,” she breathed, gasping sharply as he yanked her back into his arms.

“I will be watching you. When you need my touch, call for me.” He was panting, barely controlled lust contorting his features. “Call for me, my own. I will come.”

She nodded, afraid to push him further. The temptation to tease him fled in the face of this side of him. In his arms, naked and weak, she was entirely vulnerable. There was no telling how far he would go, if she pressed.

Her silence seemed to give him time to gain control. Softly, he kissed his way along her neck, with real tenderness. Lightly tracing his fingers over her bruises, his expression softened.

“You are a precious flower in this garden of weeds,” he told her affectionately. “None will ever compare.”

Blushing, Phillipa muttered, “You’re probably the only one who thinks that.”

“I know it.” He grinned. “How fortunate for me that is.”

“I can’t say the same,” Phillipa replied, a little jealousy creeping into her heart. “Every girl who sees you falls in love.”

“Lust,” he corrected, tapping her lips with an index finger. “None of them shall ever be my love as you are. We were born to be together as one.”

She laid her head against his shoulder, incapable of speaking to that subject. If he loved her- if she loved him- why did it feel as though it was all a terrible secret? What was she hiding from?

Tracing over the bruise on her shoulder, he suggested, “Before I leave you, perhaps you would like me to remove some of my more- enthusiastic- marks upon your flesh?”

“No!” She pulled away from him. “No, leave them.”

His eyes were filled with curiosity. “You want them?”

Hesitantly, she felt her way to an explanation. “If you take them away- if I can’t see or feel them- how will I know you were here? I would think that I imagined it. I would think-”

“That my love is only a dream,” he finished for her. “Why do you believe that?”

“No one ever stayed,” she admitted softly. “They all left me. If my dad- if my parents could disappear so easily, why would anyone else want to stay?”

Resting his forehead against hers, Loki looked on her with understanding eyes. “Because I love you. Perhaps they were broken, and perhaps they tried to break you, but I will make you whole once again. In my arms, you will be safe forever. No one will harm you again, my own.”

“How can you love me so soon?”

He gave her a beautifully confident grin. “I have waited too long for you to be unaware of my own feelings. And, you are easy to love, my perfect one.”

They had dawdled on the subject for over twenty minutes. She wrapped a blanket around herself and showed him out. Feeling a bit like her own roommate, Phillipa kissed him on the threshold, lingering in a love-limbo. He was the one to break away, walking down the hallway. But, at the top of the stairs, he turned back to grin at her one last time. Then he was gone.

Sighing a sigh reminiscent of every Disney movie she had ever seen, Phillipa made herself close the door. Then, almost giddy, she relived the feel of his arms around her. Confident that Karen was not home, she did a little dance of glee. He loved her! And she- why had nobody ever told her how amazing love was?

Actually, she thought, was Karen not in? Normally a man of any kind would bring her out of her den, but there had been a few hangovers that confined her to bed. Trying to convince herself that between roommates a blanket was enough covering, Phillipa went down the tiny hallway behind the couch. Gingerly, she knocked on Karen’s door. She had to share this with someone.

But there was no reply. Drawing a breath, Phillipa eased open the door and peeked in. Her caution was meaningless. No one was in. Wherever Karen had gone last night, she had not yet returned. Abashed, Phillipa had to wonder if her late night apology after work had also gone unheard. She would try Karen’s cell in a little while, then.

For now, she would go and be goofy in the shower. Tonight was a work night, after all. And it probably was not appropriate to show up smelling like the man who had-

Phillipa clamped down on the thought. She would never leave her room if she let herself dwell on all the wonderful things they had done in the wee hours of the morning. Later tonight, on the other hand, would be a perfect time to savor the incident. Grinning like a loon, Phillipa wondered who she would end up telling first, or if she would keep this sweet memory to herself.


	19. Price to Pay

For the fifth time since she had gotten up, Skye rolled her head on her neck, trying to ease the stiffness. This was her punishment for getting completely Goth-ed up after four years sobriety- or whatever. Probably the wig had been a little much. The boots were still kick-ass though. Her feet only hurt a bit. Add in the effort of holding back her fan-driven squeals of delight, and the gushes of praise that threatened to burst from her every time she so much as looked at the heroes of The Battle For New York- it was no wonder she was exhausted.

She rolled her shoulders too, aware that leaning over her laptop was not helping her poor muscles. Just a few more paragraphs and she felt her report would be ready. Last night had been quite enlightening. Of course, she had known there were mutants in the Goth community for ages. It was one of the few places they could go without being judged- well, very much. What she had not realized was how they used the community to keep in touch with each other, nor how obsessive they were about keeping tabs. Everyone in that club had been talking about the latest mutant politics and the newest rhetoric was employed by all of them.

Interesting that nothing in the portion of Phillipa’s dossier she had snuck a peek at had suggested how well-connected she must be. Skye was fairly sure from the behavior she had observed that Lexi knew Jen Cameron and her fiancée, and that meant that most likely Lexi was a mutant. Jessica had to be a mutant too, and there was no doubt Ren was. Smoked glasses were such a giveaway. So, three of Phillipa’s close friends were mutants. It would be very interesting to see how much influence they really had on her.

“Here, Skye. You look like you need this.”

Skye looked up at Phillipa’s father. He had such a kind smile, the sort of expression Skye wished her caseworker had bothered to give her when she had decided to study computers. Wordlessly, she accepted the coffee cup he was holding out. A sip or two later, she felt the caffeine oiling up the gears in her brain.

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a smile.

“How is that report coming?” he asked, all business, but not in a rude way.

“Two more paragraphs, I think. So, ten minutes, give or take.” She looked around the lounge. “Is anyone else up yet?”

“Not just yet, but I heard stirring. How long have you been here, Skye?”

Although he surely knew the answer, Skye did him the courtesy of the truth. “Since nine. I was up at eight, so I figured I would come here and report.”

Gently, Phil laid a hand on her shoulder. “Good job, Skye. You’re a big help in this arena, believe me.”

“Thank you, sir,” Skye said again. He went up into his office, leaving her to polish off her writing.

By the time she walked to the printer to collect her report, Agent Ward was at the command center, looking like hell warmed over. The bruise from Stark’s punch- who knew Iron Man would actually just haul off and sock somebody- was turning ugly shades of green and purple, surely nine-tenths of his scowl. Also he had gone to check on the security at Phillipa’s building after collecting them from the club. Clearly that had taken a while. Skye gathered her papers and slipped into the kitchen, looking for something to offer him. For all that he lacked all proper social understanding, Ward was not a bad guy. A little hung up on his family’s past, but not a horrible human being. Besides, the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, and she definitely needed him on her side.

She put a muffin on his desk as she went by. Instead of stopping to pester him, she left him to his early morning brooding. She was much more interested in what Jemma and Leo had put into their reports. Also, she was not certain about the size of her report. It was, kind of/sort of, her first official report. Maybe five pages, single-spaced was a little skimpy. Still, she had to drop a copy off for Phil. It was policy and SHIELD was all about policy.

“Morning, Skye,” Leo said as she walked in. He and Jemma were bent over one of their flying bug-robots. Something must be wrong with it, because Jemma did not even look up.

“Poor thing. Look what’s happened with this circuit. No wonder he’s having trouble staying airborne.”

“That would explain the dents and scuffs on his chassis,” Leo agreed. “He’s been trying to perform at 30% operating capacity.”

“Um,” Skye said, at sea in the technological world.

“Oh, hello Skye,” Jemma said with one of her amazingly brilliant smiles. “Did you need something?”

“Well, you said you wanted some files off my phone-”

Jemma snapped her fingers. “That’s right. Hand it over, then. I’ll be done in a tic.”

While she did unspeakable (well, probably) things to Skye’s phone, Skye watched Leo replace the bug-bot’s circuit. After a few knocks with a hammer- why did everything need a hammer?- he let the robot try moving. Some adjustments were clearly needed, since the bot rocketed into a wall. Skye ducked as it came back, spiraling crazily.

“You did remember about rerouting, didn’t you? It was such a brilliant idea of yours,” Jemma added sweetly as she caught the hapless bot. She calmly returned Skye’s phone and added a USB drive. “Give that to Agent Coulson, won’t you?”

Bashfully, Leo mumbled, “Oh, great, I knew there was something. Unappreciated genius can’t bring everything to mind at once.”

“Of course not. We were out late. Did you need anything else?” Jemma pointedly asked of Skye.

Startled out of watching the subtle fight, Skye tried to get a grip on the conversation again. These SHIELD agents kept her on her toes all the time. “Oh. I was just wondering. . . do you suppose this is enough for a report?”

She held the papers out to Jemma, but someone reached around and snatched the pages from her hands with hardly any effort. “Good god, what did you think you were writing- a college paper? How many pages is this monstrosity?”

“Grant, give that back. Or give it to Jemma. I asked her to look at it, not you.”

“Five pages of single-spaced type? Jesus, and double-sided too,” Agent Ward continued, oblivious to her request, “How do you expect Coulson to read this? And why the hell are you commenting on what people were wearing?”

“It’s for identification purposes,” Skye retorted, miffed. She had given him a muffin! How soon people forgot!

“Clothes change, Skye.” He returned the papers, and gave her a condescending smile. “Nice try, newbie, but a real report should be brief and to the point.”

“You don’t have to be rude about it,” Leo pointed out.

“I’m sure Skye gave it her best,” chimed Jemma practically over the top of Leo, like always.

Feeling herself turning red, Skye wondered if they had a device to make the floor open up and swallow her whole. She had thought everything she was recording was important. But the others would know better than she did. If only she had kept Phil’s copy until she had talked to them. But he had hardly had the time to pick it up yet.

“Skye,” Agent Coulson called at that very moment. “Can I see you in my office, please?”

“Tough luck,” Grant mockingly consoled her as she went past. See if he ever got another pity snack out of her!

Embarrassed, Skye entered Phil’s inner sanctum with shoulders hunched. Obviously, he was going to point out what a poor job she had done with her report. She should have remembered her teachers’ advice: keep it short and to the point.

“All right, Skye,” he began. Eager to have it over with, Skye interrupted.

“I know, my report’s too long. I’m sorry, sir. I can go over it again and cut things out.”

“Skye-”

“I didn’t know,” she explained. “And I should have let the others look at it before I turned it in-”

“Skye,” Phil said firmly. “Relax. Your report is fine. In fact, it’s better than fine.”

Skye felt her eyes bulge. “What?”

“Let me show you something,” he suggested. “This is your report. And these are everyone else’s.”

Put together, the other reports were still smaller than Skye’s contribution. No one had written over a page, and all of them were single-sided and double-spaced. That certainly changed her perspective.

“But, um, isn’t that how the reports are supposed to look?”

“Not necessarily. If I asked Simmons or Fitz to explain one of their robots to me, for example, I would get reams of paper with maybe ten words I could understand. Your report, on the other hand, is a shining example of what SHIELD really needs.”

He pointed to her titles, set in boldface. “You knew to divide your discoveries into sections. You also knew what topics were of interest. And unlike Agent Ward, you know that Goths frequently wear the same clothing-styles for years.

“This is your area of expertise, Skye. But better, and much more importantly, you know how to make me understand what you know. Anyone can read this and see its significance. You laid that club bare.”

Pointing at the chair across from his own, he instructed, “Sit down, Skye. There’s some very intriguing stuff in here. You should understand that to mean: things I didn’t know before this morning, and things SHIELD in general may not know. How do you know about the Morlocks?”

Skye shifted in the chair, slightly uncomfortable. “I had a friend in middle school. He. . . he was a mutant, but when he grew into his powers, it wasn’t just stuff he could do, but what he looked like. Since he stood out so much, he got bullied. Not just teasing, you know? And then one day he told me he was going to the Morlocks. I didn’t know what they were then, but when I got into the Goth scene, they were everywhere. You’d have to be blind not to notice them.”

“Do you have contact with him?”

“No, sir. He died in a riot a few years ago. His mother told me.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” And that was the thing about Phil: he really did sound sorry.

“Thank you, sir.”

“What about Jen?”

Skye shrugged. “Anyone would know her face by now, wouldn’t they?”

Phil nodded. “But not everyone would notice she has no human friends outside of her brother’s circle, and therefore that anyone in the club who seemed on good terms is a mutant. Is Alexis still chatting?”

Skye’s phone buzzed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Keep her talking. She may be an important contact on that side.”

“Is it- well, isn’t it a little sketchy to be friends with someone just to get information?”

An eyebrow went up, probably to remind her of certain past actions of her own. “Is that why you’re friends with her?”

“No. I like her a lot. She and I agree on tons of stuff.”

“Then I would say that whatever she tells you of her own free will has nothing to do with any kind of sketchy behavior. Skye, every agent walks that line. Some of them do so better than others. And they are the ones who worry about those lines. Now, I know you’re not ready for this, but we all have to learn sometime. I’m putting you in charge of Dark of the Moon.”

Flummoxed, Skye could only gasp out, “What?”

“All operations in regard to that establishment are in your purview. You are the only person who got to the heart of the activities there, Skye. Now, I admit Leo can dress and act the part, but you know how to move, who to talk to, and when to push harder than is polite. You need to be the one who’s steering the group.”

“What if I mess up?”

Phil smiled. “Then I’ll cut your caffeine rations. Relax, you won’t need to do much more than tell Simmons and Fitz not to be such tech nerds.”

“Actually, that’s okay. Goths are fine with nerds in small doses, as long as they aren’t posers. So, they can talk up tech with some of the tech Goths.”

“See, you have a game plan already. Now, did Simmons give you something for me?” 

“Oh yeah.” Skye handed over the USB drive. “I think that’s the pictures and videos of Phillipa singing.”

Nodding perfunctorily, Phil put the drive on his desk. Skye knew she should not ask, but she wanted very much to know. So she took a deep breath and asked,

“Don’t you miss her, sir?”

Phil looked up without lifting his head. “Every day, Skye. Go plan your strategy for tonight.”

Skye scooted out before her big mouth got her in real trouble. What a stupid question! How could he do anything but miss his only child?

Besides, she ought to be panicking, rather than being nosy. Ward was going to skin her alive when he found out she was in charge inside of Dark of the Moon. He was her superior! To counter that, she had better come up with some really brilliant tactics, and ways to word them so it sounded like she would be totally dependent upon his protection. This was a nightmare, plain and simple. That report had gotten her in trouble just as Ward had predicted after all.

It was a little weird, Skye thought in spite of herself, that Coulson seemed totally unconcerned about his daughter working in a mutant den. Not exactly a den, but close enough really. Jen Cameron visited it all the time! She had even been talking to- wait, was Phillipa a mutant? No one had said, but it could be. Look at her friend list: Jessica, Ren, Lexi- all confirmed mutants.

No wonder Coulson had stayed away. SHIELD was not keen on mutants, so the rumor went. Had Coulson dumped her before he found out about that little secret? Or was it a case of ipso facto? And what, Skye had to wonder, was Phillipa’s ability?


	20. Brilliant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the playlist for Sci-Fi Night! https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-dJN3CYAC1lumLjahxavgpbruL8_7bGk

The cloud of ecstasy surrounding Phillipa lasted until she went into the dressing room at work. Actually, it continued for a little while after that. When the bubble burst, she had started dressing for the night. Everyone was chatting about Sci-Fi night and Phillipa turned to remove her shirt. At least this time she was prepared for the theme. She had a very pretty song, too. Abruptly, the room went silent.

“Oh my GOD, Phil!” gasped Lexi, breaking the silence. “What happened to your back?”

Phillipa froze, face burning. How had she forgotten about Loki’s marks? Slowly, she pulled on the cream lace half-shirt and turned around.

“Nothing,” she said flatly, hoping to shut down further conversation.

“Phillipa,” Claire warned.

Ignoring their stares, Phillipa put on her corset and zipped up the front. She shook out the golden skirt with green trim before stepping into it. This time she was bright enough to keep her pants on and take them off once the skirt was in place. Those bruises would stay private. In spite of her total silence, everyone was still watching her when she stepped up to the mirror. Well, she was giving no one the satisfaction.

Loki seemed to like green, she thought to herself. Would he like her colors tonight? Then, she grinned to herself in the mirror. On her, he seemed to prefer no clothing at all. She caught the reflection of Jessica coming through the door and checked her amusement.

“Domino,” Lexi said, “Little Phil is acting SUPER weird.”

“You don’t say? Well, I’m walking funny because of all this PVC and leather. Also, I may never get this off my boobs.” Jessica did an awkward adjustment dance.

“Domino-o,” Lexi complained. “I really mean it. She’s got all these bruises and she’s GRINNING to herself in the mirror.”

“You prefer me miserable?” Phillipa quipped, inspecting her bronze eyeshadow.

“All right, now I know something’s wrong. You’re never flippant.”

Carefully applying dark brown lipstick, Phillipa held back from being rude. “I am today.”

“What’s this about bruises, anyway- Jesus! Look at your shoulder!”

“It’s nothing,” Phillipa repeated, pulling away. “Can I finish putting on my lipstick so I don’t end up looking like a toddler?”

Jessica eyed her suspiciously. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m happy, okay? Would you all just leave me alone?”

“What is all this disharmony?” demanded Jay, putting his head in the door. “Little birds in their nest agree, darlings.”

Everyone settled down, and Phillipa slipped out quietly after that. Away from the busybodies, her little cloud reformed. While she made certain her section was ready, she kept catching herself smiling goofily at thin air. She sat by the bar, waiting for opening and daydreaming about Loki’s approving smile.

Ren came by and gave her a dirty look. “I’m glad someone is having a good time.”

“Did you need some help?” Phillipa asked, sliding off the stool. Grimly, Ren shook her head.

“I had to restock everything. That table of yours drank us nearly dry.”

Phillipa shrugged helplessly. “I did the best I could to stop Mr. Stark. He just seemed unable to drink anything but booze.”

“He’d better not come back,” Ren growled.

Sensing that the best course of action would be slip away quietly, Phillipa eased her way back toward her tables. She might have little to do, but it was better than being strangled by association. For a little while, she fiddled with candles and cocktail menus. Then she stood idle, letting her mind wander. Would Loki have enjoyed her pieces for tonight? She could sing them for him another time, she supposed. If they ever got time between kisses and. . . other activities.

When the doors opened, she was probably grinning like a fool. She did her best to reign herself in. Conscientiously, she seated several people. Then she ran into her first snag.

“Oh. Hello again,” she said to Skye and company. “You look, um, bright.”

With a cheerful grin, Skye replied, “Why, thank YOU. You are a vision, as ever. And did you notice Jemma?”

“Leave me out of it,” Jemma said, but Phillipa had turned to take her in. She did look more comfortable than Tuesday night, sleek and more professional. Tonight, she wore a cream blazer with black lace camisole underneath and a gray pencil skirt with subtle printed bats. Also, she had some very interesting patent leather blue and black heels on. They looked dangerous to anyone who stood too close.

Skye, on the other hand, was designed to be found in the crowd. Her corset dress was figure-hugging and brilliant fuchsia with a black lace overlay. The black hair dye was gone, replaced by fuchsia hair chalk and a huge rose and feather hair piece, made to match the one over her right breast. She paired it not with stockings, but with the boots of the previous night, also known as ankle-breakers.

Finally, Leo looked nearly exactly the same as the previous night. As far as she knew, he might own several of the same mesh and leather shirts covered in belts. The pants looked as though he had slept in them for months. Aside from a few of his piercings being changed out, he was unchanged. No one would have guessed he had a more reputable job as an engineer. That fact had been let slip by Skye to Lexi. In about five minutes, Phillipa had heard it too.

“Well, if you are trying to fit in, you look the part.”

“Yeah, Jemma TOTALLY went shopping after last night.” Skye exposed a lot of teeth in her grin. “She’s so into the business Goth.”

To prevent impending bloodshed, Phillipa gave them a table and took their orders. She had just finished giving those to Ren, when the bartender froze. Given the posture, Ren had just spotted someone she routinely knocked unconscious.

Yet, when Phillipa turned, she saw only Steve Rogers and two of his cohorts: Natasha and Clint. She felt slightly guilty that she did not know their last names. Tonight, she could ask. So why was Ren clutching that bottle of Sutter Home and premeditating murder?

“What’s the matter, Ren?”

“If they’re here, that asshole will be here too.”

“Maybe not,” Phillipa consoled her.

The look Ren gave her clearly illustrated her beliefs on the subject. “Believe that if you like. Me, I’m getting the spray bottle.”

Phillipa left her plotting pre-venge, and headed over to the trio. “Looking for a table?”

Natasha gave a businesslike nod. “Yes, for three.”

“Then Ren doesn’t need to be arming herself against Mr. Stark?” Phillipa asked, leading them to a table near, but not next to, Skye’s crew.

“Not tonight,” Steve laughed. “He’s building something. Who knows if he’ll surface before next week?”

“Then I’ll tell Ren to disarm,” promised Phillipa. “Can I get you anything to start?”

“One of those grapefruit sodas would hit the spot,” Steve said.

Beaming, Phillipa teased, “You haven’t tried any other flavor yet.”

He winked. “I’m not tired of them just yet. You can tell Ren she does them very well.”

With a short laugh, Phillipa turned to the other two. Natasha asked for a glass of red wine, but Clint only wanted water. She took down their orders and headed back to the bar.

“A plain water, the Californian merlot, and a grapefruit soda. Steve says that you do them very well, and he doesn’t want anything else.”

“If I wanted someone to kiss my ass, I would beat up one of these losers,” Ren said. There was instant interest from the bar crowd, in case she was serious. In a moment, all but the most hopeful slumped back over their drinks.

“Tease,” Phillipa joked as she gathered the drinks for Skye’s table.

Ren cut her a sidelong glare, and then came over with the merlot and soda. As she filled a water glass, she muttered, “Lexi said you were acting strange. Now I know what she meant. What’s with the stupid grin?”

Concealing her hurt, Phillipa took her tray. “I’m having a good time, thank you very much.”

“Don’t be so damn loud about it, then,” grumbled Ren.

Arching a brow in what she hoped was eloquent silence, Phillipa stiffly took the water and headed out to deliver the drinks. She decided Ren could figure out that Stark was not coming on her own. What was so bad about being happy, anyway?

Even Leo had to comment on it, slightly sarcastically. “If I knew all the Goths here smiled, I would have gone somewhere more authentic.”

Feeling her brows coming together, Phillipa tried to hold on to her poise. “We are all kinds of Goth here.”

“Yes, but you look happy tonight,” Skye pointed out needlessly. “I thought you were an elegant Goth. You know, like the widow?”

Biting her lip, Phillipa refrained from asking why everyone assumed she was alone and always would be. “Did you want something from the kitchen? We’re crowded again, so you should get your orders in early.”

After shutting down that conversation, Phillipa tried to concentrate on her earlier delight. It hardly took much effort. Since it was not every day that a devastatingly handsome man told her that he loved her, she pulled together her little cloud of bliss and pretended to ignore the stabbing comments thus far. Someone had chosen her over every other girl here. She was not even a pretty girl herself, but he had called her a precious flower!

She set down Steve’s drink and he smiled at her. “You look like you’ve had a good morning.”

“And night,” she added, and then blushed at herself.

Across the table, Natasha eyed her over her wineglass. “Do tell.”

Face burning, Phillipa tried to brush it off. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“I bet he doesn’t think so,” Clint joked, with such a straight face that she almost missed that it was a jest.

She waved him off, mortified. When was she going to learn to keep her mouth shut? Now they were going to tease her all night. Then again, it was about Loki. He was. . . wonderful.

“Look at that smile,” Natasha said softly, smiling slightly herself. “He must have been good.”

While Phillipa ducked her head, Steve said quietly, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Phillipa grinned bashfully. “I am happy.”

“Did he say anything special?” Natasha asked, seeming more amused than anything else.

“It was all special,” Phillipa replied. Clint and Natasha shared a look.

“Ah, first love. I remember that.”

“I don’t,” Natasha said blandly.

Seeing that they had a conversation beginning, Phillipa made certain they had a menu and left them to it. Claire was set to begin her first two songs, so Phillipa wanted to be sure everyone in her section was satisfied. It meant they could pay more direct attention to the stage. Also, it would mean more tips. And suddenly, she wanted some nicer underwear.

While she thought somewhat more intensely than necessary about what Loki would prefer, Claire rocked the stage. Phillipa did several more rounds of the tables. Then the dance floor was cleared and most of her customers headed over.

She would have expected Natasha to join them, but the redhead was still in intense conversation with Clint. Comparing that trio to their neighbors, Phillipa wondered if their ability to be themselves in a sea of Goths was something that came with age. Skye and her group were certainly desperate to fit in. Although Jemma did not want her clothes commented on, and they did not appear to dance either.

People were so strange, she thought at she started bringing out entrees. Of course, thinking of her silly grins, she supposed she was not excluded from that category. Weird or not, though, it was her turn up on stage, so she turned over her area to Lexi and went to make sure she was ready. Her butterfly had gone crooked, so she adjusted it and eyed her reflection. Would Loki really have liked this? It was too bad she would not see him tonight.

“I miss you already, Loki,” she said to herself softly, confident that no one was around.

As she turned away from the dressing table, she felt the lightest touch against her neck. “You are so beautiful.”

She turned back, and beheld Loki standing in front of the mirror. As last night, he wore his black, green and gold outfit. In the glass, they looked like a couple dressed to match. Phillipa’s heart jumped at the thought, and her chest grew tight, just knowing he was with her again.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she breathed, feeling her heartbeat race.

He smiled. “You called to me, my heart’s own.”

Now she felt a bit embarrassed. He had things he needed to do, and here she was calling him to look at her clothes. But she wanted him, as much as she wanted her father. Maybe more, because he was real and here.

His eyes raked over her figure possessively. “You are a delight to the eye.”

“You like it?” she asked, ducking her head.

Loki brought her chin up with his hand, studying her face. Light as his touch was, there was a definite suggestion of strength in his grip. Gently his other arm slipped around her waist to bring her in flush against him. She shivered, feeling the response of her body to the contact. He smiled before claiming her lips softly.

“Beautiful, my heart’s own,” he breathed in her ear. “Now, go and sing for me. I promise, no matter how far, I will always hear you.”

“I love you,” she whispered, and put a hand over her mouth in shock. What had happened to staying sane?

He looked, for a brief moment, as startled as she was. But then a sly grin crept over his face. Pulling her back into his arms, he asked lightly,

“How can you love me so soon?”

She recognized the question as one she had posed earlier. Tentatively, she brought her hand up to touch his face. Was it what she saw in his eyes, or was it a weakness in her soul? What brought out her love? He was nothing like her father, the only man she had ever understood to care for her. But there was something. . .

“You make me so happy,” she said softly. “I don’t remember feeling like this. And all I want- I want to make you feel this way too.”

He turned his head to kiss her palm. Lovingly, he kissed down her arm to her elbow. Then he kissed her lips again, still tender. When they broke apart, his gaze was equally gentle.

“You always will, my heart’s own. Believe my word.”

“Loki,” she whispered, risking everything. “When you return, I want to be with you. Please.”

Maybe it was a stupid request. Perhaps this was only a first love, as Clint had suggested. But the way he made her heart leap, and all the giddy feelings that kept coming back for her- she would give anything to keep that. She was so tired of being alone. If this could only last, she knew, there would never need to be anything else. Now it all hung on his answer. Would he truly want her, as he claimed, or was she only an object to be discarded after all?


	21. Taking Charge

Compared to the previous night, Skye was having both a better and a worse time. It was better, because she knew where everything was, and who nearly everyone was. On the other hand, it was worse, because she spent all her time fishing endlessly for new information on the structure of the underground mutant community here and anything at all to do with Phillipa. With all the work, she was beginning to suffer an adrenaline crash whenever she stopped talking to people.

“You’re like a pinball,” Jemma commented with a bright smile. “Here, there and everywhere. Sit down for a little bit, Skye. Phillipa is about to sing.”

Skye parked herself as best she could. Restless, she fiddled with a straw. She was feeling the burden of responsibility. Worse, she had a sneaking suspicion that she liked it. This was what came of being too good for her own good.

From stage left, Phillipa came out. While she walked across the stage, Skye looked around for her admirer, but saw nothing of him. Perhaps that was not unusual, but Skye felt suspicious of his absence. Considering the hungry way he had watched Phillipa’s every move, Skye could hardly countenance his nonattendance tonight.

A flute cut through Skye’s reverie. Phillipa was beginning. She looked amazing in her outfit. Sighing, Skye wondered if she looked nice herself. Agent Ward had sneered at it, so that meant she was noticeable. Whether it was good or bad, Skye could not decide. The only thing she knew for certain was that she could not match the subtle way Phillipa fit in her garb.

“So far away, but still, so close. So many days I’ve had to count. The meaning of life comes true when I’m with you, for in me, there’s a flower growing.

“Tell him through the winds I am here. Whisper through the breeze not to fear. Taste it by the rain what I feel when you hold me. Reach out for the winds that we share, then you will feel I am near. Taste it by the snow I am here, where you left me. I told it to the Mourning Tree.”

While amazed as always by the quality of her performance, it did not pass under Skye’s nose that Phillipa was singing a love song. Nor did she fail to notice that Phillipa was looking at someone. Tracing the path of her gaze, Skye finally spotted Phillipa’s admirer once again. He was at the back, almost too far for his face to be seen.

The expression on his face startled Skye. Instead of smug and possessive as he had looked all last night, his eyes and gentle smile spoke of adoration. A sense of longing also was evoked by the way he leaned his body toward her. He watched only Phillipa, just as she had eyes only for him. Skye had a very good guess now for the reason behind Phillipa’s cheery behavior.

Beyond the simple words, which suggested to Skye that he would not be around for a bit, there was an undercurrent she was not entirely certain she had a good grasp on. Sure, Skye had been in love- well, thought she had been, which almost amounted to the same thing. But there was something in the gaze they were sharing that indicated a desire, an intensity that Skye had never known. It was almost as if they were all alone with one another and no one else mattered in spite of the listening crowd. Their passion seemed all-consuming, and yet still tender somehow. When had this happened? Even last night their interactions had been tame.

Skye watched the two concentrating only on one another with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. How was she going to explain to Agent Coulson that his daughter had fallen in love? Furthermore, how would she say that without even knowing her boyfriend’s name? Actually, that might be safer for the admirer.

“Tell him through the winds I am here. Whisper through the breeze not to fear. Taste it by the rain what I feel when you hold me. Reach out for the winds that we share, then you will feel I am near. Taste it by the snow I am here, where you left me. I told it to the Mourning Tree.”

After the perfect finale, Phillipa gave the crowd a curtsy, and sent an adoring smile straight to the back of the room. Still snooping, Skye noticed the admirer smile in reply, before quietly turning away. Even if she ran, Skye was fairly certain she would never catch up to him. He moved fast. If she wanted any further information on him, she would have to ask Phillipa. Or maybe get someone else to ask her.

This in mind, Skye tried to decide whether or not she could ask that of Lexi. They were quite friendly already. All the same, this seemed like a large favor. At least, for now.

So she would have to be pushy. When Phillipa came around again- but when Phillipa did come around, she was far too lost in love. Skye deflated entirely. She could never ask her such personal questions. When was the last time Phillipa had looked like that? Although she was absolutely not supposed to, Skye had peeked at her file. Happy was not the usual adjective in the reports she had snuck a look at.

Jemma, conversely, had a different focus. Dragging her arm across the table, she ended up knocking over her glass. At first Skye thought she had been unusually clumsy, but as the scenario played out in front of her eyes, she began to realize how devious the biologist could be.

Naturally, Phillipa got a rag to mop up the spill, while Jemma seemed embarrassed about her “butter-fingers” moment. Then the biologist started playing with her phone. A bright flash went off and Jemma looked annoyed and muttered something under her breath. Another flash, and she said accusingly to Leo,

“You’ve messed with my camera again, haven’t you? Put it back the way I like it, please.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Leo grumbled back. He took the phone, and again, it flashed.

“Watch it. Sorry, Phillipa,” Jemma said to the waitress.

“It’s not a problem,” she said. “Technology can be overwhelming at times, can’t it?”

“Exactly. Especially when someone changes your settings without permission.”

Returning the phone, Leo told her, “I was outside. It’s dark out there, you know. It’s called night.”

“Whatever.”

Once Phillipa had finished cleaning up and moved on, however, Jemma leaned forward over the table. She nodded to herself, and then held up the phone to show the other two the results of their little mock-drama. Skye was both impressed and slightly disturbed by the efficiency of their deception. For all they acted like a prize pair of nerds, Jemma and Leo definitely had the makings of real agents. Was there a special class they took at the academy?

“I knew it. Look at that bruising.”

Skye studied the area Jemma had zoomed in on. The flash had exposed what the dim interior of the club and the lace shirt had covered up. Multiple bruises covered Phillipa’s shoulders. Skye tried to pair this with Phillipa’s extreme good mood and was at a loss.

“But she looks so happy tonight.”

Leo shrugged. “Some girls like that kind of thing. Especially girls with pasts like hers.”

Skye looked over at him sharply. “What do you mean, pasts like hers?”

“Now you’ve only gone and done it,” Jemma chided. She held up another picture, this time the one Leo had taken. More bruises appeared, but now on Phillipa’s neck.

“Well those are love bites. I can go with that,” Skye said, trying to act as though she did not care about Leo’s comment all that much. If she ignored him long enough, he would give in.

“Look, she had some terrible experiences as a kid. I mean, you should have guessed that already. Her dad left, and died, and there was that business with her mother’s death-”

“Fitz.” Jemma’s tone was the sound of steel doors being bolted. Preservation cut in, and Leo clammed up. But Skye already had enough for a google search.

Sure enough, there was a six-year old article about the tragic suicide of a middle-aged mother. Unfortunately, she had fallen victim to depression, which was not alleviated by her medication. Her neighbors suggested that it was an unfortunate combination of illness, debt and drink that led to the death. She was, so the obituary said, survived by her only daughter, who had been taken in by Child Protective Services. The daughter would be fostered after she finished a stint at the hospital, where she had been taken after collapsing at the scene of the suicide.

Well-versed in this sort of writing, Skye read between the lines: Alcoholic mother, possibly addicted to prescription medication as well; teenage daughter finds mother’s body and calls 911; if she collapsed, it was either the shock or a suicide attempt of her own; and, most damning, Phillipa had never been fostered out to a family. Teenagers were the lowest priority fosters, with the boys edging out the girls to get the worst of that raw deal. It was also evident because Phillipa never mentioned any foster connections. She had probably been in a group home, one of as many as twenty other “troubled youths,” none of whom would likely have a very bright future. Skye knew exactly what that world was like.

So Leo was playing the “damaged goods” card. Skye did not buy it. The way Phillipa gazed at her admirer, and the way he had stared at her tonight made that speculation false. They had been in their own little world, possibly full of bluebirds and fields of flowers. No, Skye concluded, it was much more likely that Phillipa was kinky because she was kinky. Nothing had to make a person kinky, after all. Otherwise kink would be an honestly rare occurrence. Although it was nowhere near as prevalent as the internet would have the world believe.

What did this add up to? Trouble for Phillipa’s admirer if Agent Coulson saw those pictures, for a start. But it also suggested that there was some rough bedroom play that Phillipa did not want exposed, as well as a budding love. That explained her responses to Skye and Leo’s gentle jibes earlier. She was probably scared as hell that it would all fall apart, or that it would not. Love was weird like that.

More importantly, what should Skye do about this? Was now the time to seek more information? Anything that could convince Agent Coulson to leave the guns at home would probably be good. Maybe she should hold off on finding out that guy’s name. Then again, if she had his name, she could google him first and pick up his good points, should he possess any.

Probably most important, however, was the need to find out if he was in any way connected to the guy and the group that SHIELD suspected was stalking Phillipa. That had to take precedent. Skye now felt she had an actual direction to take her pushiness and, well, push.

To that end, she sought out Lexi. Unfortunately when she came to the dressing room door, someone told her that the pint-sized singer was already up on stage. Disappointed, Skye turned to leave, partly because she liked Lexi’s performances, and caught part of an interesting conversation.

“Phillipa is the female form of Phillip, of course. And Phillip means ‘Lover of Horses.’”

“That’s kind of funny. My dad was named Phil, you know. And he just hated riding horses. I remember he used to refuse to ride the carousel with me, because they wouldn’t let him stand next to me after I was five, and he didn’t want to get on the horses. He always said it was plainly unnatural for a human to sit like that on such a hard surface.”

“That’s what she said.”

There was some giggling over the entendre, and then the other girl, Claire, continued, “Any more names you want to know about?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you know where this name is from. I mean, I don’t have to know anything about what it means, if you don’t know that.”

“Sure, sure. What is it then?”

“Loki.”

“Loki? That’s Norse. Scandinavian, some people call it. It’s name of some god, too, I’m pretty sure.”

“Norse? Like Norwegian?”

“Exactly so. Any reason?”

“No, no. I read it somewhere and I thought it was. . . interesting.”

“Sure, sure. You just read it on the lips of a very handsome man.”

“Don’t be silly, Claire. You know I prefer books to boys.”

“Ah-ah. I said ‘man,’ not boy.”

Laughing, the two parted. Phillipa went back out to her section, and Claire headed for the dressing room. Skye took a circuitous route back to the table, stopping in the bathroom along the way to avoid looking suspicious. By the time she returned, Leo and Jemma had ordered her another virgin lime daiquiri. Both looked curious about her long absence, but Jessica was starting Styx’s Mr. Roboto and there was no chance of hearing anything over the roars of approval.

Norwegian, thought Skye. He could be, but then why had Claire failed to recognize who Phillipa was talking about? All Scandinavians tended to have a very distinct accent. Something about all this seemed strange- stranger than usual.

“Did you find something?” Leo asked when the noise had died down.

“Maybe.” Skye was still thinking.

Leo eyed her, and then straightened up abruptly. Still smiling, Phillipa came over to their table. She took down another order of alcohol-free drinks and a new order from Skye for garlic cheese fries. Watching the girl wander off in a daze, Skye felt intrusive. Maybe she should keep what she knew to herself. This was not her life to ruin.


	22. Fear

While as busy as the previous night, Phillipa hardly noticed the time flying. No one had yet cornered her about the bruises, to her bewilderment. Once, Jessica had caught her, but she had only shoved her cell phone into Phillipa’s corset.

“Just hold on to this for me. I’d stuff it in my cleavage, but it shows. Nothing sexy about a Razor in your tits. Remind me to pummel Jay later.”

Luckily it had not gone off. Phillipa could only imagine how awkward that would be. So far, Jessica had not come to re-claim it. Hopefully no one would notice it. That was yet another explanation she did not want to give. Maybe she should put it in the top of her stocking.

By now, it was nearly time to finish cashing out her tables and go home. She had one song left, but aside from Claire, she would be the last girl to perform. And unlike Jessica, Claire never insisted on last song. If Phillipa hurried, she could be dressed before being pounced on about her bruises. She had already had to warn Lexi about the personal nature of the question. Of course, she had probably been beaming like a moron when she told her it was something she had asked for- well, she could hardly help it! And, Lexi was a bit of a pest.

Actually Lexi was fantastic tonight. Phillipa was a little jealous of her outfit, although she felt much better when thinking about how well she matched with Loki. In blue, as usual, Lexi had a beautiful brocaded corset with amazing dull bronze chains and closures. The sweetheart neckline and mesh cap sleeves were just the right amount of cute. Her black bustle skirt with blue accents was hiked up in the front to expose her black, lacy stockings and elegant lace garter. On her arms, she wore black net gloves with leather fingertips. Even her shoes were black lace. As far as Phillipa was concerned, Lexi had Lolita-Goth down to a ‘t.’ She did not have someone else’s cell stuffed into her stocking.

Phillipa checked on her tables before taking the stage again. This one was much more of a video game favorite, but by the time she had finished the first verse, everyone was listening. It was not the sort of song she expected to be well liked, but the series was popular. And it was Sci-Fi night, so the nerds and geeks were out in force. At least, that was what Claire had said.

The song was both beautiful and complex. Like many of the other songs she had chosen on her own, Phillipa had practiced it for months. She had only sung it for Jay once previously, but he had given her the nod. That was not common. Normally, she had to try four or five times before he allowed her to sing anything he had not hand-picked for her.

“A flame on the wind. Salvation begins. Look beyond where hearts can see. Dream in peace. Trust love, believe. We tremble and spin, suspended within. Mmm, free the dream within. The stars are crying. A tear, a sigh escapes from heaven, and worlds end.”

As she curtsied carefully, Phillipa wondered if she could get the piano music from any reputable source. It would be nice to sing from the safety of a piano bench. Jay had suggested it before, she thought. Tomorrow at practice she would approach him on the subject.

More important to her at this moment was getting some place cool. She could duck out the side door for a moment. Strictly speaking, no one was supposed to do so, but if she kept the door propped, it was allowed for five minutes.

Before she made it to the door, she was halted by Jessica’s friend, Pietro. He gave her a cocky grin to match his machismo-inspired outfit of leather and sweat. Why mutants even needed such things occasionally puzzled her, but then again, anyone who was at war with the world on a regular basis had to have the right armor. With a thumb jerked in Jessica’s direction, he explained,

“Domino wants me to give you a ride home tonight. When are you off?”

Phillipa glanced over at the kitchen clock. “In half an hour, or so. It depends on how long it takes me to clear the tables.”

“I’ll be around back, then,” he said, cheerfully. “Domino said you were not to leave by the front, since you did last night. I don’t claim to know what that means, but it sure sounds dirty.”

“My front area is always clean. I hose it down everyday.” Phillipa told him with a straight face. Unlike Loki, he did not catch on to her joke immediately. In fact, he was halfway down the hall before he cracked up.

Finally free, she slid out the side door. Giving a wave to Martina, she kicked the doorstop into place. It would hold the door about two inches open, enough to slip her fingers inside without crushing herself against the frame. Out in the cool air, she fanned her face vigorously. The stage lights were much too intense tonight. She hardly felt the need to have all those lights on her.

Sighing to herself, she took a moment to daydream. When Loki came back, what would they do together? All right, she thought to her suddenly vivid imagination, what would they do that was PG? Maybe he would like to go to a movie. Or. . . probably nothing PG.

She switched to reminiscing, which was less likely to make the next hour more difficult. Missing him was slightly better than arousing herself. Although, thinking of being in his arms was a mixture of both. She had to admit, she was completely caught up by him. Even trying to picture the coming week without him was painful. Lacking the feel of his fingers on her skin, the touch of his lips on hers, and the way he watched her, so very much in command of her every movement- she had never realized how much she had wanted to be someone’s sole focus. When he returned, she knew, he would own her. Was that wrong? She was not certain she should belong to him. The socially correct preposition was with, according to movies. And yet-

“Hello, Sheila,” said a threatening voice from the end of the alley.

This time, Phillipa did not freeze. She grabbed the door and tried to shove it open. Unfortunately, it was a heavy door and she did not have much leverage. Something struck her sharply in the back of the head. As she slid down to the ground, reaching back for the pain, she heard footsteps coming closer.

Through the fog, she had only one coherent thought: run. She shoved her way to her feet, dimly awed by the fact that she had not stepped on her lengthy skirt. Staggering, she made it several feet down the alley in the opposite direction.

Fred must have been right behind her, however. Grabbing her arm, he yanked her around to face him. When she struggled, he backhanded her coolly. She vaguely heard something tinkle on the ground. He held her firmly in his grip. In his other hand, glinting with grim purpose, he now held an incredibly long knife. It looked crafted to disembowel elephants. Casually, he brought the point down over her heart.

Teeth showing in a menacing grin, he said, “Now, girl, there are two ways this can go: you can come along nice and quiet, or I can stab you right here and now and collect a cool fifty grand. Either one is fine by me. Only choose quick, Sheila, because I have a schedule to keep.”

Because it was what the authorities always insisted, Phillipa relented. “I’ll go with you.”

Fred nodded. “I thought you would. Every girl does, sooner or later.”

He hauled her along, keeping her off balance, up the alleyway toward the rear entrance. A brief flicker of hope rose in her breast. Pietro was supposed to be here. What little flame there was snuffed itself out when she saw a body lying on the sidewalk. It had silvery hair.

“Some people just don’t know when to back off,” commented Fred, apropos of nothing. He opened the trunk of a white compact further down the block. Now she noticed that the lamps were out. It was, if not actually dark, dim enough that no one would possibly pick out any details without being close by.

“Get in,” he ordered, gesturing at the trunk.

Phillipa stared. Somehow, she had not thought this was really happening. But there was a knife in her face, a trunk waiting to receive her and no help in sight. Slowly, she climbed into the back. Before she could lie down, he grabbed her wrists.

“Ah-ah, missy. I’m not stupid. Let’s put a little insurance on you.”

With practiced efficiency, he brought out a plastic industrial zip-tie. She had never seen them used before, except on television. Fred was obviously well-acquainted with them. Tight, but not too tight would best describe the fit. Her blood could still circulate, but there was no way she would pull them off.

Once done, he shoved her down onto the floor of the trunk and slammed the lid. Her heartbeat nearly covered the sound of him starting the car. On her right side, knees wedged almost against her chest and arms crammed in between, Phillipa considered her situation with horror. This was really happening. She was being kidnapped and had no way to call for help. Even Jessica’s phone was out of reach, because of the close confines. She had slipped it into her right stocking top, and she could never ease it out from this position.

She might die tonight. There was no one to expect to rescue her. No one except for Martina knew she had gone out the side door, and everyone would be busy with closing. They might even assume that she had gone home early. It could be hours by the time someone realized she was missing. If they thought she was miffed about their prying, it could be days before someone thought to check her apartment.

Even Loki was not around. As he had left her earlier, he had told her he would not be near. He had said that he was always listening, but how could she trust that? Wherever Fred was taking her, she could just bet that it was no place Loki had ever been. No one would know where to look.

She tried to shift some of the weight off of her right side. The phone was digging into her thigh painfully. What cruel irony that the very thing she never had on her person was now here and still totally useless in this situation. Like so often in her life, she had no way to reach out, because there was no one to reach for. She was utterly alone.


	23. Action

“Sweet Lexi, darling Lexi, are your tables closed out?”

“All finished, Jay,” Lexi chirped.

“Then put your tips into the jar and see if you can find Phillipa. The little dickens has left her tables pining for her.”

The tip jar actually was a jar. It had little teddy bears printed around the middle. Jay kept it in his office, along with the bear trap. Only once had someone tried to steal it. Word got around. There were even jokes about it, but no one dared find out the truth of the matter. Which was, all in all, exactly how Jay liked it.

Lexi stepped over the trap and dumped out her pockets into the jar. Tonight had been pretty good, and she heard that Ren was making better money than usual. Of course, it helped that any time that nice Steve came up to the bar, he glared at anyone who failed to tip. He had such a lot of muscles. Somehow no one wanted to disappoint him.

As she looked around for Phillipa, Lexi hoped the girl was not hiding from her. Sweet as little Phil was, she was also several different kinds of weird. At times devastatingly shy, she nonetheless had come in with serious bruises on her body where everyone could see. Then she had told Lexi that it was none of her business what she might or might not be doing in her bedroom. Fair enough, Lexi thought, but why show them off if she did not want them commented upon?

Then there were the emails. Phillipa and Lexi had been involved in a nauseating porn picture war for almost an entire year now, but every now and again, Phillipa still wrote back in response to an email, “Oh my God, Lexi! I’m in the LIBRARY!” Which begged the question: where else would she be sending the pictures from? She had no computer. And why was she smart about some links, sending replies such as, “You know I don’t eat meat, Lexi. I have no need for BBQ recipes,” or “I already make decent lemonade. Send that link to Ren,” but occasionally she would say, “That had NOTHING to do with goats, damn it!” as if she had no idea that it was never wise to click links on the internet?

Having made one sweep of the club, Lexi pulled up short with a frown. Was the side door open a crack? Strictly speaking, the girls were never to be outside, because they could be doing something terrible like breathing fresh air. But everyone stepped out sooner or later, because it was hot and crowded inside.

Martina nodded to her question. “Yes, she went out a few minutes ago. I was just about to call her in.”

“I’ll do it,” Lexi volunteered brightly.

Giving the door a shove to release it from the doorstop, Lexi poked her head out. No sign of Phillipa. Frowning, Lexi clambered out from behind the door. She was not down at the opposite end of the alleyway, either. But she would never leave the door cracked. Phillipa was law-abiding to a serious fault. It had taken Lexi an entire year to convince her to use this exit at all.

Although working with the police had made Lexi much more prying than she ought to be (which fact she would never admit to anyone aside from herself), that did not mean that she was bad at it. At once, she dismissed the idea that Phillipa had slipped away. Nothing and no one could convince her to skip out on her shift- not even the strong, silent one, who obviously was the guy who had given her those bruises and that goofy grin.

Therefore, something had gone wrong out here. Much as she hated to, Lexi pulled off her gloves and laid hands on the door edge. If Phillipa had needed help, she would have tried to get inside first. People always did. Under Lexi’s fingertips, the door’s latest encounters were laid bare.

It was an incomplete picture at best, but Lexi was an old hand- ha!- at this. Phillipa had been pulling at the door with all her might, when she had abruptly slid to her knees. Then she had pushed herself to her feet and released the door. Lexi headed in the direction Phillipa had staggered, keeping her eyes to the ground. Not far along, she picked up Phillipa’s butterfly. The sense of violence was much more defined now to Lexi. It had been flung off of Phillipa’s head from some impact.

Someone had been attacking Phillipa, thought Lexi as she rolled the glittering clip in her hand. The question remained: who? They had been terribly inconsiderate not leaving behind any evidence of themselves on either the door or the clip.

She revised that opinion a moment later when she checked the side streets and almost tripped over Pietro. Nosy as she was, she already knew he was supposed to be Phillipa’s ride home. Luckily, he still had a pulse. Since she needed the information, she upended her water bottle on his face.

He came to, sputtering and angry. “What the hell?”

“Take it easy, Speedy. Someone clubbed you and they are probably the same person who took little Phil. So, if you could skip the confusion and move straight to the important stuff, I’d like that.”

“What- wait- Son of a bitch!” Pietro tried to shoot to his feet and ended up wobbling back to the ground.

“A dog, you say?” Lexi asked, scanning the road. Someone had obviously killed the streetlights. Maybe they would give a clue. She left Pietro clutching his head and went to one of the dark poles.

It took four poles to find the one that had been tampered with. Although the vandal had worn gloves, Lexi knew after a few moments exactly who they were after. She hurried back to the club, catching Pietro in her wake. At this point, Lexi only knew two people who could possibly help.

“Domino!” Lexi grabbed her arm possessively and made her voice dramatic. “I need you.”

“Be still my beating heart,” the older mutant muttered. “As I’ve said before, I don’t think you could handle me, little lady.”

“You’ll never convince her,” Ren told Domino.

“There’s always hope,” Domino replied, trying to pry Lexi from her arm.

“Seriously, you guys have no sense of dramatic necessity.” Lexi lowered her voice and said, “Little Phil got nabbed by that Myers Lemon guy.”

Immediately, Domino tensed up under Lexi’s fingers. She had a lot of muscle, Lexi thought enviously. It would take a lot more trips to the gym for Lexi to get the definition Domino had. 

Aside from Pietro and the girls, someone else was listening in. Steve Rogers came right over to them, looking concerned. Apparently he had great hearing, because Claire was blasting “Iron Man.” Actually, it was kind of funny that Mr. Stark was not here. He would have come in handy in this situation.

“Who took Phillipa?”

The mutants all shared looks. Technically, they were part of different groups. Pietro was with the Brotherhood, Ren sided most often with Jen, and Domino declared herself as her own mutant with X-Man tendencies. Lexi was with nobody at all. But the decision maker was always Domino.

She nodded to Pietro. “Go tell the boys. Eric isn’t going to like this, so let’s aim his anger. Mr. Rogers, if you have any information about Myers, now would be a good time to offer it up. Otherwise, butt out.”

“Hold on. I may not know anything about him myself, but I know people who do. What’s your game plan?”

“Get Phillipa out,” Domino said. Lexi had to let go of her arm. She needed things from the dressing room.

“That’s not going to be good enough,” Steve pointed out. “Even one guy can mess you up or slow you down.”

“Which is what you’re doing right now,” Domino pointed out as Lexi hurried off. Moving as fast as she could, she slid into the dressing room and snatched up her bag. This held things she technically was not licensed to use yet, but lines like that always blurred lately.

“Hey, Lexi, where are you going?” Skye asked as she shot out of the room.

“Oh, hi. We’re just off to save Phillipa.”

“Who from?” Skye demanded, strangely quick to decide Lexi was serious. Also, how weird that she said “who” and not “what.”

“Uh. Wow. You actually believed me.”

Skye gave her a look. “Are we BFFs?”

“Totally. BFF4EVR.”

“There you are then. Seriously, what’s the problem, sexy Lexi?”

Lexi swooned mildly over the use of her preferred, but unofficial, nickname. “Aw, you are the best friend ever! Um, so, anyway, Phillipa has been kidnapped by that creepy Austrian from yesterday.”

“Australian,” Skye corrected.

“Whichever. Anyway, Domino and the rest of us are going to get her back.”

“From where?”

“Oh. We don’t know that yet.”

“Then we’re coming too,” Skye decided.

“But you don’t know where they are either.”

Determined, Skye qualified, “Not yet.”


	24. Plans

Today was not one of Nick Fury’s best days. To start with, Commander Hill was deployed to deal with the Fantastic Four’s latest contribution to science that had gone awry. Therefore, Fury was using whichever agent got close enough to be shouted at. It was an improvement, in that people started staying away. Then again, the one who stayed was not his favorite recruit.

Equal Opportunity Employment Acts be damned, thought Fury. She was a god-damned mutant. A voice-mimicking, cleavage-baring, sassy-mouthed, unfortunately good-at-her-job mutant. Worst of all, she was the only one who ever answered when he snapped, as now, 

“Someone get the hell in here and explain to me what this bullshit is!”

“You called, sir?” asked Echo, with characteristic good humor. It was as though she had no idea when he was pissed off.

“What is this?” he repeated, holding up his pad. “Why do I have not one, but two requests for assistance in raiding an A.I.M. stronghold?”

“Well, sir, to start, the second request is actually a request for you to OK the first request. The first request is from Agent Coulson’s team, and the second is from our special operatives, Barton and Romanoff.”

“I know who sent them, Agent Echo. I want to know why they are on my desk.”

“Because everything to do with Agent Coulson’s daughter goes directly to you, sir,” Echo replied, excessively reasonable.

“What the hell does this have to do with Mary Coulson?”

“Phillipa Coulson,” corrected Echo. “She is the subject they want to recover.”

“Why the hell- never mind. Tell them backup is coming and absolutely no one is to move until I get there. And get my car ready.”

“Already done,” said Echo. When he glowered at her, she added, “Anticipating your orders, sir, I directed Agents Sitwell and Blake to meet with the Avengers and Coulson’s operatives and to sit tight until you arrive.”

Fury continued to glare. The girl was good. Too damn good for the communications position he had given her, and she never, ever complained about it. He knew who was probably pulling her strings, but sometimes, like now, he wished to hell he knew how she tweaked his.

“Agent Echo, you are communications, not director,” he reminded her as they walked toward the garage.

“I am aware of that, sir. However, in this situation, I felt saving time was slightly more important.”

“Then why didn’t you refer it to Agent Clark?”

Echo gave him what could only be described as a look. Previously seen on librarians and his mother, it did make Fury feel slightly embarrassed and small. To compensate, he ratcheted up his glare. As usual, it failed to impress her.

“You busted him for playing Galaga, again, while he was supposed to be arranging a meeting. Until Agent Hill returns, I am the highest ranking officer on deck, sir. But, if it makes you feel better, I could put my hair up in an unattractive coiffe and bind my breasts so it looks like I don’t have any.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I am trying to ascertain that, sir. If you could give me some pointers-”

“Agent, get in the damn car.” Much as he hated to admit it, Echo was damn good in the field, and it appeared she was better briefed at the moment than he was. He would need her to fill him in while he drove. She was good at briefings too, damn her hide. In fact, she was frequently the most capable in parceling out information.

Echo was a damn good agent in general. His hands had been tied as far as allowing her to apply for SHIELD, but once in, she had passed every necessary test, and a whole slew of unnecessary ones without flinching. Nothing slowed her down for long, and she could keep up morale like no one else. She was friendly to anyone and everyone, and too damn smart to let on when she did not like someone.

In fact, her worst characteristic was her ability to keep things quiet. For all that she chattered, Echo never told anyone more than they needed to know. This was one of the reasons he had not wanted to give her promotions. He never could be sure what she was thinking, and she knew exactly what everyone wanted to hear. So he refused to trust her, and she calmly pointed out the ridiculousness of his mistrust. But she was engaged to Jen Cameron of all people! There was no way Echo was keeping any secrets from her fiancée. The last thing SHIELD needed was a damn security leak, especially in the direction of the mutant population.

But the Council had been very firm. SHIELD needed mutants, and Echo had proved loyal for the last two years, without exception. She brought in and took down mutants without protest. No one had ever heard her utter any pro-mutant slogans and she stayed resolutely neutral about mutant registration. Only once had she talked back to an officer, and that had been over a breach of conduct toward someone else. Echo was, Nick Fury hated to admit, the kind of agent SHIELD could be proud of.

She had trained under the best. Melinda May, before she insisted on desk duty, agreed to do a lot of Echo’s initial training, especially in firearms. And Coulson had overseen her technological studies and given her exams in conduct, morals, and situational tactics. To back that up and ease his own concerns, Nick Fury had been their overseer, making it twice the headache as usual. As Sitwell had pointed out once, they took convicts more easily than they had accepted Echo. And the damned mutant never once complained.

Right now, she gave him a detailed description of the situation they were driving to. She named the key players and he clenched the steering wheel in anger. SHIELD had some of the best operatives in the world, no doubt. As now, however, they could be the stupidest fuckers he had ever met. It was all the worse for knowing one of his finest agents was defying him openly.

“So what you’re telling me, if I am hearing this correctly, is that Agent Coulson interfered by sending three of his agents into the field to observe Myers and Phillipa?” Fury ground out, bring Echo’s update to an abrupt halt. She adapted to the change swiftly, correcting him coolly.

“Five agents, sir. Agents May and Ward are the physical protection. The others are simply there to blend in and watch Phillipa while she is at work. Incidentally, Skye is proving a valuable addition to his team. She wrote an excellent report on the club’s social web.”

“I don’t give a damn about what she wrote, I want to know why she was there in the first place.”

Echo shrugged. “I’m afraid only Agent Coulson can tell you that, sir. If I were to guess, I would say that perhaps this is a personal concern of his.”

Fury honked at a taxi. “Personal is not good enough to justify disobeying orders, Agent Echo.”

“Given the way most people respond to familial issues, sir, I cannot say that it should be unexpected.”

“I told him I’d take care of it.”

Again, Echo shrugged. “Perhaps he wants to make sure you are, sir. Or, he wants to take care of her himself. He is her father.”

“In a manner of speaking,” muttered Fury. “He hasn’t been on duty for sixteen damn years.”

“This is it on the left, sir.” Echo scanned the street, no doubt spotting the other operatives along the way. “And people do say, sir, that parenthood never ends.”

“People say a lot of stupid shit.”

Stupid shit would also be a good descriptor of the group before him. The agents were mostly dressed properly in suits, but Agent Coulson’s group was a fucking carnival freak show. There was leather and lace, and a whole hell of a lot of spikes and chains. Also, there seemed to be at least three extra people. What the fuck was this?

“If I wanted a circus, I would buy a god-damned circus. You are none of you in the circus. What the hell are you wearing, Agent Fitz?”

The Scotsman cowered slightly, in direct opposition to his in-your-face clothing.

“Camouflage, Director Fury.”

“Last time I checked, black was not invisible, Agent Fitz. Nor are chains silent. Take the damn things off. You jingle more than a fucking belly dancer. And what the hell are you doing dressed like that?”

Skye, to her credit, did not quail under his gaze. “Waiting for your orders, sir.”

“Watch your mouth,” Fury told her, but not without a small amount of admiration. It took some guts or some stupidity to sass him. Time would tell which it had been.

“One of you idiots give her a jacket. She’s a fucking beacon in that.” He gave Agent Simmons a nod. She was not an extravaganza. He passed over Ward and May entirely, simply checking them off against his mental list.

As if that joke was not bad enough, the Avengers were here. All of them. Why the hell did he always trip over them on important operations? Nobody was sending them fucking gold embossed invitations. Stark ought to be at home with his girlfriend- people did not just “get over” something like being forcibly injected with EXTREMIS- and Dr. Banner damn well ought to be a million miles away from anything like this. Yet another ticking time bomb he would have to deal with. And who the hell had let them find out about Coulson’s family in the first place?

Then he got a better look at the tagalongs. “No, no and no. You three haul ass back home right now.”

“Nice try, Director Fury,” said Domino, his absolute least favorite of the group. “We don’t take orders from you, especially not about our friend.”

Alexis bobbed her head in agreement. “Yeah, we stay.”

Before he could explain to them exactly how he felt about mutants in general and these mutants in specific, Steve Rogers came over. “They could be helpful, Director Fury. Lexi has already assisted a great deal.”

“Director,” Echo interrupted, “We will need to move soon. I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

Anyone else, and Fury would have chewed them out. But Echo’s abilities included paranormal hearing. If she suggested there was trouble, it was as good as done.

“Fine. Cap, you’re in charge on the ground in there. Simmons, I need you out here. Skye, you too.”

“Yes, sir,” the women chorused. It was not because they were female, but Simmons was his only doctor, and Skye had zero combat expertise.

Steve nodded to Fury as well, and then turned to the mutants. “Do you have any combat training?”

Domino nodded coolly, and Steve did not even bother to question her. He had good instincts, Fury noticed. Must have been his days during the war, decided Fury. Renata shrugged and gestured with her nightstick.

“I was a bouncer.”

“Good enough. Lexi?”

Alexis sighed. “No.”

“Then stay here. We might need a runner. Banner, I think you should stay here, too. Unless we need the Hulk, we’ll need you more as a doctor. Fitz, Stark, we need those doors open and any electronics out of commission the moment we get in there. Take care of it. If you have a firearm, you’re up front. Barton, get up high once we’re in and point out Phillipa and any other hostages. Everyone else, be ready to assist with takedowns. We’re taking prisoners, if possible. Let’s move, people.”

In minutes, Steve had everyone in position, even Stark. This was why Fury wished the captain would accept a position at SHIELD. People listened to him. Hell, even Alexis had kicked off her heels and given them to Skye in order to run. Look at those fucking things, Fury thought in awe and disgust. How had she even walked?

“We’re ready, sir,” Echo reported.

Fury glared at the building. “Then tell Cap to go ahead. Let’s get Phillipa out of there, so I can go kick her dad in the ass.”

Echo raised her brows, but gave the order. Hopefully this would be a simple extraction. Then again, nothing was ever simple where A.I.M. was concerned.


	25. Terror

Though the weather was warm enough to leave most people sweating, Phillipa was cold all over as Fred hauled her into the dark warehouse. Knowing that he could have killed her already was no help. She had played over what he had said about that and determined that whoever was after her did not particularly care how long she lived. They wanted her dead. The only question was now, or later?

Her leg muscles were cramping as she limped beside Fred, but he had no mercy. As best she could, she kept up the pace. It was better, so authorities always said, to be cooperative with someone who had a weapon. She would have preferred, in retrospect, to have taken her chances back at Dark of the Moon. Now she had made her situation that much worse.

From the outside, the building had appeared dark, but within, it was brightly lit. The windows had blackout curtains over them, which cut out the light to outside. The interior was also more modern than the façade suggested. Everything was steel or chrome with the sharpest corners she had ever seen. Another room farther in was framed off with clear, but not see-through, plastic. She was reminded of a laboratory and a number of horror movies she had not wanted to see in the first place.

“Ah, Mr. Myers,” said a man in a dark suit. Unlike Agent Ward, he was slim with a receding hairline and an impeccable tie. He was so sleek, he was practically oiled.

“Got you a present,” Fred leered.

“Yes, I see. Mr. Sinister will be pleased, indeed.”

Shoving her in front of him, Fred demanded, “And my money?”

“Transferred to your account within the hour,” replied the man smoothly. “Surely you are not thinking of running off? We are planning a demonstration that should be most enlightening.”

Grinning right at Phillipa, Fred agreed, “I’m always ready for enlightenment.”

“Now then, Miss Coulson, if you would just step this way,” the man said, taking her arm gingerly, almost as though she was covered in mud or some other distasteful substance.

Through a doorway in the clear plastic sheeting, there was a room with a metal dais in the center. In this room, there were people- a lot of people. A few wore lab coats, but most were wearing yellow hazmat suits. There was one other person who wore neither, and he looked more nervous than a mouse in front of a cat. He also might have been the source of the foul odor that hung in the air. Scruffy and probably unwashed, he looked like he had been plucked right from the streets.

“Miss Coulson, we here at Advanced Idea Mechanics believe that humanity is in need of protection. As you know, the Battle for New York involved aliens and other non-humans attacking humans. Our police force was helpless. Can you imagine how many lives could have been spared if we had the technology to immediate repel such invaders?”

Phillipa could see that the man in the suit needed no encouragement, so she did not answer. There was a definite sense of obsession about him. And without prompting, he carried on.

“To protect the people, of course, we will need weaponry. Our research is leading us to stand on equal footing with these monsters. The need to defend ourselves is tantamount, Miss Coulson. Unfortunately, your father never did agree. Thus why you are here.”

“My father is dead,” Phillipa felt obligated to point out.

“Yes, that was troublesome. But, I do feel that you may stand in his place. You see, Miss Coulson, we have so many things to test and few volunteers.”

“Um.” If she could have stifled that, she would have. The involuntary noise was best kept to herself. However, the apparent leader seemed more amused than anything.

“We already have one volunteer this evening. If all goes well, we won’t need your services tonight. No, all I wish is that you watch and come to understand our process. It should be an instructive experience, as I noted earlier.”

He nodded to the others in lab coats. This produced a mad scramble of activity. In the corner, the scruffy man was prodded into removing his shirt. Like ants, the scientists/doctors hurriedly swarmed him, covering his body in sensors of some kind. The equipment did not look like standard hospital fare, having more length to the wires, so that some distance could be between him and the monitors. They also jammed a pair of silver gloves onto his hands.

“Progress, Miss Coulson, does require the occasional sacrifice,” noted the man in the suit as he checked and signed off on a clipboard.

Something about the way he said it sent shivers down Phillipa’s spine. Looking at the nervous man, she abruptly knew he was not meant to survive whatever test they had planned. And after him, it would be her turn. Regardless of what they intended for her tonight, she was also slated to die.

The lab rat was shoved in the direction of the dais, drawing Phillipa’s attention in that direction. Up on the raised platform, there was only a black circle in the center. At first, she thought that was where he was supposed to stand while they tested whatever, but then the leader directed,

“Just pick that disc up, if you please.”

“And that’s all?” asked the man, voice rough like a lifelong smoker.

“Precisely.”

“Kinda a lotta money fer wearing some fancy gloves and picking something up,” he muttered, but still bent down to lift the disc from the floor.

As soon as he touched it, the hair on Phillipa’s arms stood on end. He held it up, revealing a yellow-orange center, almost like translucent amber in appearance. It had the same organic sheen. She noticed on his hand a mark like a centipede crossed with a scorpion. Had it been there all along? Although not ominous, exactly, Phillipa took an involuntary step backwards.

The man turned to face them, and suddenly the horror Phillipa felt was given form. Cracks had begun to materialize on his skin. His mouth opened, but no words emerged. But from his expression, she could believe that he was trying to scream. Inside, a red glow appeared.

“Oh dear,” murmured the leader. “I do believe we shall need your services after all, Miss Coulson.”

As the skin pulled apart, a red light emerged from underneath. The man leaned forward, reaching toward the gathering. There was a brief burst of white flame, so bright that Phillipa had to squint. In an instant, the light dimmed, and his whole form collapsed into nothing more than fine ash.

“Well,” said Fred irreverently, breaking the silence. “There’s your problem.”

“Clean that up,” ordered the leader.

“Yes, Mr. Tarleton.”

While the ants went into overdrive again, Mr. Tarleton signed off on another clipboard. He clucked his tongue in disapproval at the workers. They scurried to prepare even more quickly. Several workers in hazmat gear gathered up the ash into a trash bag. Another nudged the artifact back onto the dais with their boot.

Phillipa was also part of their preparations. Calmly, a doctor/scientist cut the zip tie around her wrist. Before she could think of struggling, someone grasped her hands and shoved black gloves on them. No one bothered with sensors.

“I would not try anything, Miss Coulson. Think of the great contribution you will be making to science,” said Mr. Tarleton. Then he nodded to Fred.

“If you would escort her to the dais, Mr. Myers? We would not want any delay in our next test.”

“Always happy to escort a lady,” grinned Fred.

Once again, he dragged her along. Struggling was not even an option, because he clearly had the strength to haul her wherever he liked, no matter what she did. No matter how strong he was, however, he was not getting any closer to the dais than he had to. So, he rammed her down onto her knees in front of the circle, using his boot to force her further toward the platform.

“This can go easily, or painfully, Miss Coulson,” Mr. Tarleton informed her, coming to stand beside Fred. “Here is your chance to be worth something to humanity.”

Phillipa leaned back. There was following advice from authorities and there was sheer stupidity. Up to now, the advice had seemed to work, but this was the end of her tether. She was not going to die by giving in to crazy scientists.

“Really, this is such a simple request, Miss Coulson,” said Mr. Tarleton irritably, his first real hint of emotion.

“No,” Phillipa told him softly, not looking up.

For such a small man, Mr. Tarleton had quite the grip. His hand locked around her left wrist and yanked her forward. As she squirmed against the pull, he spoke fiercely,

“You will not refuse me, Miss Coulson. I chose you to pay for your father’s efforts to slow our progress. Now, you will advance the cause of humanity as your father should have. You will.”

Bringing his entire weight to bear on her hand, he forced her to touch the center of the disc. Instantly, he let go. Together with Fred, he stepped away from her. Released, she tried to wrench herself away from the smooth disc. Something about the touch of it completely repulsed her. No matter how hard she yanked, however, she could not remove her hand from its surface.

Unlike with the other man, the effects seemed slow this time, or somehow different. The gloves disintegrated as Phillipa sensed heat building up underneath her fingertips. On the top of her left hand, a black tattoo began to form. It felt as though hot strands were reaching below her skin. Perhaps it was only an illusion, but the fear was palpable, turning her stomach into a roiling mass. She was going to lose her life in a truly hideous fashion and there seemed to be nothing she could do to prevent it.

As the warmth tried to make its way up her arm, Phillipa suddenly felt a cool hand wrap around her wrist. Somewhere behind her, she could hear shouting and loud bangs like the slamming of doors. For her, however, it was looking up into a familiar face that was more shocking. Wordless, she watched Loki holding her trapped hand and listened to him chanting very softly. Under his gentle touch, she actually relaxed.

There was a golden glow around the disc, and then warmth died away and Loki released her hand. In back of her, there was further chaos. Mr. Tarleton was yelling. Just at that moment, however, all she could attend to was Loki’s manifestation in her most desperate hour. Soft, as so often previously, he spoke to her before once again disappearing,

“Run. Now.”

Phillipa staggered to her feet, impelled by a depth of trust even she had not been expecting. The disc clung to her flesh. Feeling strangely slow, she shook her hand to try to force it loose. When it did not budge, she flung back her hand. Someone swore behind her, but her forward sweep sent the disc skittering away across the floor. It hit the wall and made an impressive thud.

She turned to move away, uncertain about where to run. All she knew was that Loki had insisted she go immediately. Once again, someone seized her. This time, though, the hand went around her throat. While she resisted the grip, abrupt agony swelled in her back, burning almost to her belly.

“Gotcha, Sheila.” Fred leered down at her. “Nothing personal, you understand. Just got to earn my commission.”

He pulled back his arm, drawing out the fire. Her knees buckled under the pain, but he continued to hold her up with his grip on her neck. Pulling her up farther, as she fought for breath, he added,

“And this one is for your dad, from me. Let him know it when you catch him in hell.”

Before he could deliver another blow, a fist shot through Phillipa’s dimming vision. Someone new caught her around the waist. As Fred slid to the floor, Phillipa found herself pressed against a chest. Spent, she could not even support her own weight.

“I’ve got you,” Steve Rogers said. “Hang on, Phillipa.”

That was good advice, Phillipa thought, but she was not following it. Exhaustion and pain had taken over completely. She was already sinking into unconsciousness as he moved to lift her. Even the sharp pang that cut through her abdomen as he hefted her weight to carry her could not dispel the fog. The only thought that she could grasp was that Loki had come for her. He had kept his oath. Of everyone who had made promises, he would be the first to keep one. She wished she had thanked him.

It was so dark now. Even the sense of Steve’s warmth was gone. Was she still moving, though? Who would be waiting for her where she was going?


	26. Blame

Still nothing. Skye tried very hard not to pace, but she was wound so tightly, it amazed her that she did not fly into a dozen pieces at every sound from within the warehouse. No matter how many times she checked, Lexi had not moved from her post by the door. Turning slightly, Skye looked to Jemma, who was sitting calmly in the back of a van.

Jemma gave her a faint smile. “Waiting is the worst, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Actually,” Dr. Banner said quietly, “The worst is the chaos afterwards. Trust me.”

They stood, and sat, awkward in the warm night air. Now and then, Jemma would rummage through the supplies, rearranging this or that. The van was set up almost like an ambulance, ready for what Jemma called “triage.” The driver was up front- not May, she was inside busting out her ninja skills on the unfortunate, but deserving- waiting to drive like a demon if necessary. Everything was ready, but nothing was happening.

Actually, it was a bit weird that Jemma was in charge of the medical stuff. She was only a biologist, and Banner was an actual doctor-

Almost out of thin air, Lexi popped up beside Skye. “They’re coming! Steve has little Phil and he says it’s not good.”

Jemma nodded to Skye. “Get in and help me.”

“I don’t know anything about First Aid,” Skye protested, even as she followed the order.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m commandeering you.”

When he brought Phillipa, Skye could instantly tell that Captain America had not been kidding. She looked chalk white. Instead of putting her flat on her back, with Dr. Banner’s help she was set on her side, in what Jemma called the rescue position. There was, as Skye would later dream about, a lot of blood on Captain America’s uniform, turning half of his silver star to rust.

But there was no time to focus on the horror of the moment. Under Jemma’s calm but firm leadership, Skye was immersed in a world of bandages and forceps and thread. At some point, an agent closed the back doors and they strapped Phillipa down to prevent her moving during transport. Mechanically, Skye squeezed a transparent plastic balloon to help Phillipa breathe. She could not remember when the van started, nor when it stopped. All she knew was one moment Jemma and Banner were discussing the need to reinflate Phillipa’s right lung, and the next, a nurse had taken her job.

“Stay here, please,” the man said, and the cavalcade moved on without her.

Skye was left standing at the doors to the operating room, as lost as she had ever been. Hands empty, she stared after the mad activity in a daze. Slowly, she turned to find somewhere to sit. Nothing seemed close enough, and so she slid down a wall, eyes fixed on nothing, mind scrambling to remain equally blank. It failed.

From the outside, the raid had been very quiet. But before the ambulance doors had been slammed shut, Skye had counted at least four wounded. None of her team, though. She did not know where they were now. From the moment Phillipa had stopped breathing on her own, Skye had literally had her hands full. What had gone on outside of that space she knew only in patches. Now she tried to piece together the quilt, finding too often the very fabric tearing away from her. She had seen a lot she wanted to forget, and her mind was already beginning the process. To fight it, she tried to remember the names of everyone who had been present. Since she thought she might not actually know all the agents present, it would occupy her time nicely.

It seemed like hours before she heard anyone moving nearby. Where had Fitz, May and Ward gone to? The sound of hard-soled shoes brought life back into focus. She was aware, instantaneously, of a sharp copper tang in her mouth. Looking down, she saw that she was a mess. Like Jemma and Dr. Banner, she had ended up covered in blood to the elbow. Short of time in the frantic rush to keep Phillipa alive, she had wiped her hands on anything she could reach. It occurred to her that she probably had blood all over her face. Somehow, she just could not find the get-up-and-go to deal with it. Not until she knew if Phillipa was going to be all right.

“Skye?” The speaker was known to her, she thought, and looked up blearily. “Jesus, Skye, I told Ward you were not to go into combat.”

“It isn’t mine,” Skye said, her voice ringing peculiar in her ears.

“All the same, we had better clean you up.”

“No!” She pulled away from Agent Coulson. “Phillipa’s in there.”

Her boss looked toward the surgery doors. Then he sat down next to her on the ground. Skye was shocked. She had never thought Coulson would ruin his suit sitting on the emergency room floor, not even for his estranged daughter. God alone knew what was on it.

“Then we’ll wait together,” he decided calmly.

Having nothing to say in response, Skye turned back to the doors. She was worried about the rest of the team, and everyone else, but Phillipa was the worst hurt. As far as she knew, she thought suddenly. Just because she had seen only four wounded before the van took off did not mean that was the grand total. Out of all of them, though, Phillipa had been her responsibility. Her only responsibility, and she had failed. That was the reason she was waiting on the world’s stickiest floor for word about a near stranger.

“You know, Skye, it’s not your fault.”

Skye turned her head to stare at Agent Coulson. “What?”

Coulson nodded toward the doors. “Whatever happens in there is not your fault. You did your best, I know.”

“She got kidnapped on my watch, sir!”

“Which is exactly what Ward will say, and May. Fitz and Simmons, too. You all have an over-developed sense of responsibility. There’s nothing wrong with that in this line of work- really, SHIELD values people who can take charge. . . except you have to remember that sometimes everything can’t be your duty.”

He patted her bloody shoulder gently. “Remember, Skye, you’re not responsible for all the evil in the world. You do your best to cut it out where it grows and minimize the damage it causes, but it’s no more your creation than blackberries overgrowing a yard.”

“What if she dies, sir?” Skye asked softly. “Wouldn’t that be my burden?”

“No. You didn’t hurt her, Skye. You were there to save her. Hold on to that thought. No matter what happens, this isn’t on your shoulders, understand?”

“No, sir,” Skye admitted, eyes on the doors again. “If I was there to save her and I didn’t, aren’t I to blame?”

“Did you hand her over to them?”

“No.”

“Did you and the team sit back and do nothing when you knew she was in danger?”

“No.”

“Did you watch her dying and do nothing?”

“No.”

“Then you did everything you could, Skye. As much as Simmons and Dr. Banner will do, and as much as Fitz, May and Ward have already done. Do you think any of them neglected their duties?”

“No, sir,” Skye said emphatically.

“Then I don’t see why you are the only one who gets the glory of shame. We may not save everyone,” he said gently, “But we always do our best. You should never feel guilty when you did every humanly-possible thing to protect the innocent, Skye. Trust me, that burden is too heavy to bear for long.”

While Skye tried to digest his advice, the sound of shuffling feet approached them from the direction of the operating room. Agent Coulson stood up so smoothly, Skye would never have believed he had been crouched against the wall like her for thirty minutes. He helped her get stiffly to her feet in time to see a nurse in surgical dress come out of the doors. Nodding to Skye, she addressed Agent Coulson.

“Dr. Simmons requested that you be told the patient has been stabilized. We are moving her to the recovery room until the anesthesia from surgery wears off. Then she will be transferred to a private bed in the ICU.”

“Thank you, nurse,” said Agent Coulson evenly.

Although he was taking this news quite calmly, Skye felt her knees buckling under her. Without glancing in her direction, Coulson put his arm under shoulders to keep her from hitting the floor. Thank God! She could hardly be more grateful to the world. Even if she hardly knew Phillipa, it was still the greatest relief to know that no matter how she had suffered, she was going to survive.

“Skye,” her boss asked, his voice showing none of the strain of supporting her weight, “When was the last time you ate?”

“Eleven?” she guessed dizzily.

“If you could, nurse, some sugar water and something to help her clean up? It’s been a long night.”

“Of course, Agent Coulson.”

As the nurse turned down the hallway, heading deeper into the hospital, Coulson heaved Skye over his shoulders. She squeaked in protest, but did not struggle. The last thing she wanted to do was end up sprawled all over this gross floor. Without any sign of strain, her boss started carting her down the corridor.

“Fireman’s Lift, Skye. Very useful skill to pick up. It distributes weight evenly across the back and shoulders, making it much easier to bear heavy loads. Not,” he added conscientiously, “That you are particularly heavy. Still, if you get it right, I’m sure that you could carry Agent Ward around should the need arise.”

“This is totally mortifying,” Skye moaned.

“Next time,” Coulson said, his voice suggesting more than a little amusement, “Stay with your team and remember to watch your blood sugar. Shock can be a nasty thing, Skye. You wouldn’t want to go through it alone.”

“No, sir,” Skye agreed, privately considering that a slight touch of death would make a situation like this much easier to accept.

On the other hand, she thought another half of an hour later, there were a few perks to swooning without actually passing out. She had been given an exam room to herself, and someone had even brought her fresh clothes that did not appear to have come directly off the dead. Clean, hydrated and fed, she had perked up slightly. Still, she was wondering where the rest of the team was, and when that crazy head nurse was going to let her go. It was almost four in the morning. All she wanted was the blissful oblivion of her extremely uncomfortable bed. 

While that was not to be so easily obtained, one of her questions was answered by the advent of Leo. He rapped on the doorframe. Busy contemplating the capitalist Zen of the millions of paper currencies mosaiced into a single U.S. one hundred dollar bill, Skye almost missed the sound. She was happy to see him, though, particularly as he looked completely unrumpled.

“Heard you took a bit of a queer turn,” he said in explanation to the candy bar the bug-bot Sleepy bore. “Should have warned you that the letdown is nasty.”

“That’s okay. I probably wouldn’t have believed you, or even thought of it again,” Skye said, completely honest.

“Well, let’s just be prepared for next time, eh? Agent Ward is talking with the boss and May is starting on her paperwork even while in the hospital bed- she’ll be all right in a bit, just a sprain, which those fellows she took on can’t say- but you and I are supposed to push off to bed.”

“I am so ready,” Skye enthused. Then she paused. “What about Jemma?”

“The doctors have beds here. They’re not great, but Jemma says it doesn’t matter when you’re knackered where you sack out, only that you can. I can say from personal experience, this is almost true. It’s when you wake up the next day that it matters.”

After barely escaping the clutches of the head nurse, who believed in discharges the way most people believed the earth was flat, Leo managed to get Skye released. Together, they walked away from the nurses’ station. They took a different corridor from the way Skye thought she had been carried in. This one had carpeting, for a start.

Remembering an earlier foggy thought, Skye remarked, “I thought Jemma was a biologist.”

“Biochemist. She’s a field medic too. Oh, and Coulson said that he heard from Jemma how well you did, and you ought to get your First Aid and so forth. Just not tonight, okay? I miss my bed.”

“Sure, whatever. I’m not driving, though.”

“No, we’ve got a car picking us up. Oh, right.” Leo rummaged in his pockets and came up with a napkin. “Lexi said this was for you.”

Scrawled in brilliant scarlet lipstick, Lexi wrote, “C U 2morrow, Skye! 6pm, DotM, don’t be late! UR BFF4EVR, Lexi.”

She even dots her i's with hearts, noted Skye with a smile. They were way too alike sometimes. Tucking the napkin carefully into her jeans’ pocket, Skye followed Leo out into the early dawn of the city. Tomorrow for sure, she thought to herself. She owed Lexi big time.


	27. Recriminations

In the quiet space, Phil silently watched over his little girl. For now, she was asleep and would not notice his presence. It was vitally important to take this chance while he had it. As he had already told Skye, he missed his baby every day. The last time he had held her close for a good snuggle was sixteen years past. Now she was too big to put in his lap, and too injured to cuddle. If he had the ability, though, he would have jumped at the opportunity to simply hug her.

All he could do at the moment was watch, and admire. Sleeping, little Ani- Phillipa, he meant- was a great deal like she had been when she actually was an infant. Every hour or so, a nurse had to come in and drag her arms down and tuck her legs back in. She always had tended to sprawl out when sleeping alone. Phil could hardly count the number of times he had had to tuck her hands and feet back inside of her crib before he gave up and got her a toddler bed.

As when she was small, her hair was still a slightly unruly halo no matter how freshly brushed it was. The dull brown color that had in part earned her the nickname, “Moth,” had gained no shine over the years. Her eyes were still just a hint too large, and he had little doubt that they were as dusky a blue as ever.

She looked a lot like him, facially speaking, sharing features such as his nose and small mouth. He had seen pictures of her wan smile and the resemblance was uncanny, even in his eyes. But that was where he felt their similarities ended. In terms of physique, she was much tinier and all woman.

It was quite a change to behold, considering that the last time he had spent this much time looking at her she had only been nearly six years old. More than a little transformation had taken place. She was just as pretty as she had been, only now with a more mature edge. Like any father, he worried about that. She was only twenty-two, hardly starting out.

Then again, she had been on her own in many ways since she was a little girl. Too many ways, by his reckoning. He should never have agreed to leave her, no matter the perceived danger. There was very real danger everywhere around her, and it all stemmed from having no one to turn to when she was in need. While he knew the time had probably passed for reconciliation and understanding, Phil could not help wishing. She needed someone to care for her. Who was going to do that, if not him?

At the moment, she was under heavy sedation. It was the only way he could excuse spending any time close. Probably he could not justify the fact that he was holding her hand, or his tendency to tuck her hair back behind her little ears. But she was still, and always would be his baby girl. What else would be expected?

Director Fury was hanging around the hospital, more than likely waiting to scold the hell out of him. It was doubtless time to face him regarding the whole situation. Looking down at his little girl one last time, Phil made his decision. What it was time for was change.

He did not have to search for his boss. Director Fury was waiting right outside of Ani- Phillipa’s room. For a moment, Phil did wonder whether Fury would not get close to her because of guilt, or because of his well-known xenophobia. As everyone knew, the SHIELD director frequently said that the only thing worse than mutants was god-damned aliens. And Phillipa was close to both. Of course, the only thing he liked less than the pair of those put together was failure.

“Agent Coulson, which the fuck part of ‘no contact or involvement whatsoever’ did you not understand?” Director Fury demanded right away.

“Given how things turned out, sir, I would suspect all of it.”

“Don’t be fucking flippant with me, Agent Coulson! Your team put a whole operation in jeopardy under your orders. And don’t think I don’t know that checking out Dark of the Moon was a cover story.”

“The need was there, sir,” Coulson pointed out calmly.

“That cuts no ice with me, Coulson and you know it! Because of your agents Phillipa was tipped off early to Myers, pushing ahead A.I.M.’s schedule. If they had kept their big mouths shut-”

“Excuse me, sir, but it was Myers’ own activities that alerted Phillipa. Skye learned that from Alexis, as her report clearly stated. No one warned her about Myers prior.”

“Agent Ward spoke to her-”

“And never named names, sir. He botched the interview in several respects, Director, but he never mentioned Myers by name.” Phil absolutely was not going to have any of his team getting reprimanded for things they had not done.

“They brought a fucking freak show to an extraction.”

“The mutants they allowed to accompany them would never have consented to be left out of the operation, sir. Agent Ward agreed with Skye that it was better to include them than lose valuable time. And may I remind you, Director, that they all proved assets to the entire rescue? Not to mention the fact that Agents Barton and Romanoff brought the other Avengers to a small raid, including Dr. Banner who is not a stable individual?”

Director Fury glowered at him, but Phil was not backing down. This was about more than his boss was throwing at him, and they both knew it. At this point, Fury would either have to acknowledge it and give him the real dressing-down, or let it go completely. In answer to this evaluation, Fury pointed at an empty exam room.

“In there, Agent Coulson. Right now.”

Mentally shrugging, Phil stepped into the room. It was time to have it out, and the location was not important to him. Director Fury shut the door behind him, ready to explain exactly what Phil was doing wrong. Instead of allowing that, Phil pre-empted the entire conversation’s thread.

“I want her back, Director.”

“You- Did you just say what I think you said? Are you insane?”

“She is my responsibility, sir.”

“Don’t you start that shit. You gave that up sixteen years ago, Coulson.”

Phil acknowledged the fact by dismissing it. “Under duress, sir. And I have regretted that decision every day since. Tonight illustrates very clearly why it was such a poor choice.”

“It was the only damn choice, and you know it,” Director Fury reminded him, but not unkindly. “You know exactly what the Council will say.”

“She is my responsibility,” Phil repeated. “No matter what happens, I signed myself up for it. She is my daughter, sir, and I want her back.”

“You know what I’m going to say. Why the hell do we have to have this discussion every goddamn month? Coulson, you’re a damn good agent, but sometimes I think you’re the stupidest son of a bitch that ever got handed the badge.”

“I understand that, sir. Regardless, I am her father.”

“You are not-”

A knock on the door interrupted them both. Jemma put her head in to look at them, alert though tousled. Gesturing over her shoulder, she told Director Fury,

“Agents Blake and Sitwell are looking for you, sir.”

“We are not done with this conversation, Coulson,” Fury said, before heading out.

Jemma stepped aside to let him pass, and then turned her attention back to Phil. “In trouble, sir?”

“Just me, Agent Simmons. You don’t need to worry about getting your chops busted.”

“Oh, I know, sir. It was you I was referring to.”

Partially amused, Phil felt his mouth twitch. “So, you think I’m in trouble?”

“I know you are, sir,” she told him firmly. “They’re taking bets at the nurses’ station on which one of you is going to throw the first punch.”

“Good odds?”

“It could be, sir. I put my money on neither of you, so if you could hold off, I’d be most grateful.”

“Is our guest doctor still with us?” Phil inquired, neatly side-stepping that issue.

“Dr. Banner? He went home once Phillipa was stabilized. Have you seen her, sir?”

“For a little while. Does the good doctor know our location?”

Jemma shrugged. “It could be. I don’t seem to recall being tight-lipped about it, although I admit my mind was on more important things.”

“Then may I suggest you make certain he does not?” Phil knew she would catch his inflection- Jemma was a very smart woman, and loyal as well.

“Of course, sir,” she agreed. “It would be quite a problem if we were overrun by concerned parties.”

“Exactly my thinking.”

She left only a single minute before Director Fury returned. Cutting it close, Phil thought to himself. Still, he was sure that the director had no inkling what Phil was planning. If he was not going to get what he wanted, it was important to have a secondary option. Someone had to be thinking of Ani- Phillipa’s needs. Right now, he might be the only one.

“Now, where were we, Agent Coulson? Oh yeah- you’re an idiot. There is no way you are going to resume care of Phillipa.”

“And why would that be, sir?”

“I got a whole army of reasons, Coulson. Do you need to hear every damn one of them?”

Phil shrugged slightly. “I’d like to hear what you consider most pertinent at this moment, sir.”

Sighing fiercely, Director Fury began listing. “First of fucking-all: as far as she knows, you are dead. How, exactly, would you like to explain to her that you have been not-dead all this time? Second of fucking-all, if she knows you are not dead, your cover is blown. I need you to be dead as far as the major players know. Telling her about your status among the living will ruin that completely. SHIELD has a hell of a lot of plans riding on your continuing death, Coulson, which you willing agreed to. Third-fucking-ly: according to Dr. Pym, she does not need you, and that is a huge mother-fucking point, especially with the Council.”

“I do not agree with Dr. Pym, Director, and neither does Agent Simmons.”

“I don’t give a damn if you agree with Dr. Pym, because you also know you have got fuck-all for evidence that she does need you. I am sorry, Coulson- you know I am- but you have got nothing on your side.”

“I have quite a bit, sir,” Phil argued calmly. “Dr. Pym has no experience in the field of psychology, and so I question his ability to ascertain whether or not my child needs me as any child needs their parent. Neither does he have an accreditation in alien biology as Agent Simmons does. His sole claim to qualification in this matter is in regards to his unsanctioned autopsies-”

“His sole qualification is that he hasn’t been wrong yet, Agent Coulson. That counts for more in the Council’s eyes than Agent Simmons’ guesses. She might be a good agent, but we don’t know how good an alien biologist she is. Dr. Pym has degrees and success. She’s only got one of those.”

“I still feel I am the best person to care for her, sir,” Phil persisted.

“And I would agree with you, if not for all the damn good reasons I just gave you. Look, Coulson, I know you feel responsible for her. Any good agent would. But you have to face facts: she’s moved on with her life, and so should you. Until our mad scientists come up with time travel, there is no going back. She’s better off without thinking you abandoned her, don’t you think?”

Naturally, Phil did not agree. If he had anything to give her, it was the truth. She deserved that much. Seeing that his boss would not give in today, Phil decided to let the argument stall. It had only been a partial hope, unlikely at best. There had been a better chance before Loki had stabbed him through the back and opened up a new world of possibilities for SHIELD covert operations.

Director Fury nodded toward the door. “Now, get the hell out of here. You and your team have a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, sir.” Pausing in the doorway, Phil suggested, “You might look into recruiting those mutants, sir. They were very helpful.”

“Agent Coulson, I am so mother-fucking tired of all these mother-fucking mutants showing up on mother-fucking missions. I already have one mutant headache kicking around my damn office. Why the hell do you think I want three fucking more? Next thing you’ll be saying I should add her to the roster, comatose- and by the way, totally helpless- as she is. Get out of here!”

Stifling a smile, Phil left the room completely. Now his boss would spend several hours angrily contemplating mutants, and forget all about Jemma’s time alone with Phil. When things got interesting, the director would take some time to connect the dots. By then, Jemma would already be back at the bus, and Director Fury would have to vent his rage at someone else. There were advantages to having his own team, Phil thought.


	28. Sleeping

Slowly, fighting her way up through total darkness, Phillipa came back to the moment. Even though she was positive it had hardly been any time since Captain America had picked her up, he was not in evidence. And she was not being carried at all. In fact, everything had changed.

Gone were the yellow hazmat suits, chrome furniture and plastic walls. In their place was a world of white and a nauseating mint-green. She was lying in a bed, far too exhausted to think of moving. No one else was nearby at all. She became aware of a faint beep in the background, rhythmically marking time.

Rapidly, fear was overtaking her confusion. It grew into terror and panic in a matter of moments. Her mouth opened to scream, but all that came out was a faint and rough,

“Daddy?”

How embarrassing, to have the first thing out of her mouth be about her long-deceased father. It was not as if he could show up. But she missed him so, and she had always trusted him to be there, in one way or another. Why was he gone? The question cut abnormally deep at this moment. It reminded her of her lonely state. Before she could burst into tears, as her volatile emotions threatened to overwhelm her, someone looked in the door.

“Ah, you are awake. I thought I heard something. Let me call the nurse.”

The mystery person was gone as quickly as he had appeared, and this time Phillipa’s mind shifted instantly to Loki. Where was he? She wanted him as much as only moments ago she had wanted her father. Desperation was making her want someone to cling to, and she might have accepted nearly any familiar face. In this strange place and after all the chaos, however, Loki would have been her primary choice. Where was she, come to think of it?

“Hello, Phillipa. All right in here?”

“Jemma?”

“Yes, it’s me. No, no- don’t get up.” Jemma came over to the bed and rested a gentle hand on her chest. “The best part of this bed is that you can make it do all your work.”

“Where-”

“We’re in the SHIELD emergency hospital. Now, don’t fuss. You’re terribly hurt, you see.” Jemma used a remote to lift the head of the bed, so that Phillipa could see the room more easily.

While Phillipa tried to get a grip on current events, Jemma bustled around. She was a bundle of efficiency, giving Phillipa the sense that she was well taken care of. In a matter of minutes, her bedpan was changed- a proceeding that mortified Phillipa- she had new warm blankets, and she was encouraged to choose something to eat. It was funny that she had thought Jemma was some sort of scientist, when she was clearly a doctor.

“There. That’s better, isn’t it?”

Weakly, Phillipa nodded. She was much more comfortable, even though now aware of a deep ache spread below her sternum. It seemed centered on the right side of her back. Bits of the events prior to her waking started to filter back in. Even though she had expected to be in the arms of Captain America, she now realized she had not known exactly why. The impertinent thought that she would have preferred Loki’s arms made her feel a bit like blushing.

“Right,” said Jemma, at the arrival of the vegetation Phillipa had selected. “Let’s get you fed. You’ll be hungrier than you think, but we won’t overfeed you.”

As good as her word, Jemma made certain that Phillipa ate, with a steel inside her cajoling tone that reminded Phillipa of Jessica. There was little chance that Phillipa would think to disobey her. That fact aside, by the time she had finished her meal, she was already starting to fade. She was unsure if she had ever been so tired before.

“Hey kiddo,” said a new voice, one that was distantly familiar to her. She turned her head slowly, too fatigued to respond.

“She’ll be back under in a few minutes,” Jemma told the newcomer. He nodded.

“Just brought you something. Maybe it’ll help you feel more at home.”

He came to her bedside, with a sympathetic smile. The design of the bottle he held out was highly memorable, although it had been some time since she had seen one. Sluggishly, her muscles not responding as quickly as usual, she reached out to take it. Smartly, he opened the cap for her before pressing it into her hand.

“Blue juice?” she queried. It took some effort, but she managed to add, “I didn’t know they still made it.”

“It’s hard to find,” the stranger agreed. “Phil always complained about how much trouble he went to getting you a little. But he loved you too much to stop looking.”

Sipping at the juice, Phillipa remembered the man at last. He was Agent Sitwell. All those years ago, when her father had died, Agent Sitwell had been his partner. What she had always liked about him was the way he spoke as if her father were still around, hiding just out of sight. Also, he remembered everything she had done as a little girl that her father had told him, and did not mind repeating the same stories for her constantly.

“Thank you,” she remembered to say, after finishing the small bottle.

“You’re welcome,” he assured her with a smile. “I bet your dad would be happy to know you got it.”

Jemma took the container from her hand, and set it aside on a small table. “Time for you to get some more shuteye, Phillipa.”

She did not even bother to protest, although she had dozens of questions. Instead, she lay still and let them stream through her consciousness. Was it all a dream? Was that homeless man really incinerated? What was that disc, and what had they done with it? Was everyone all right? Where was Loki?

Some time later, she felt a gentle touch against her cheek. Thinking it was time for more medical stuff, Phillipa pried her eyelids apart. There, watching her with what must be concern, was Loki. He put a finger to her lips when she parted them.

“Shh, don’t speak. I only came to see for myself whether or not you were well.” He eyed the machines beside her bed. “Barbaric, but effective enough.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You told me to run and I didn’t.”

Lovingly, he put his hand to her cheek once more. “Do not apologize. The fault is my own. I promised to watch over you, did I not?”

“You did,” she protested weakly, tears forming in her eyes. “You told me what to do.”

Still tender, he leaned close to kiss her. “Shh. Weep not, my own. As I say, the blame lies in me. I did not stay as I ought. Yet, who can escape their fate?”

Puzzled, she asked, “Fate?”

“When we are born, the Norns- seeresses of the universe- come to speak of our fate to those most concerned by it. At your birth, the Norns told Odin, the All-Father of Asgard, of your destiny. In turn, he recorded it onto a scroll. Much of it remains hidden to my sight, but that which he most wished me to understand, I have read. I knew that danger was approaching you, but the timing was unclear.”

Phillipa blinked heavily. “Then you know what is going to happen to me?”

“Only the Norns may know all of your fate. The All-Father knows what they have spoken to him, and I know but a fraction of that. Much remains unknown to me.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Loki merely nodded. “Not yet, my own. It is not imperative that you comprehend all at this very moment.”

“I feel a little stupid,” she admitted after a moment. “Like I can’t think of what is happening.”

Smiling wickedly, he put his forehead to hers. “Were you not so damaged, I would test your reflexes. Soon enough, our time will come. I will relish the moment when I feel your flesh against mine.”

“We’re in a hospital,” she protested, flushing.

“I fear that matters not a whit to me, my own. But your wounds do concern me.”

Foolishly, Phillipa attempted to sit up. She wanted to know what all the fuss was about and it did not seem the worst idea she had ever had until after she was partially upright. Faster than she was at this moment, Loki caught her and made certain she did not thump back down, but was lowered gently and steadily back. Hissing in pain, she called herself several of the dirtiest adjectives she could come up with.

“Little fool,” was all Loki bothered to say in remonstrance. Softly, he stroked her face and placed light kisses on her lips until the ache eased. He was so tender and sweet. Phillipa almost wished she could put her arms around him and run away right this very minute. Rather than that, she carefully lifted her hand to tug at his shirt.

“Stay with me?” she pleaded, voice faint.

“Until you slumber,” he agreed, sliding with utmost care in beside her. His long body just barely fit on the hospital-issue bed, but he made no complaints.

Just the smell of him was comforting, she thought to herself as she began to drift away once more. How had he swept her away so easily? While he used loving caresses to help her along the path to sleep, she began to wonder how long he had been watching over her. Had he been waiting for as long a time as he claimed for her? And how long had she been waiting for him?

Loki seemed so certain of their future. Would they be together, in the end? Surely that would require some kind of sacrifice on her part, for she was anything but the perfect creature he insisted she was. What would she give to never feel alone? Did she have anything at all? And what would it be like, coming so close to having the only thing she wanted, only to lose it all because she was not, and could never be, worthy?


	29. Looking In

“Hey, Steve! You’re not doing anything, are you? Of course not! Come on!”

Although irritated, Steve allowed Tony Stark to tug him out of his apartment. Technically, he was about to make dinner, but maybe Stark would be buying tonight. Besides, the inventor had that gleam in his eye which suggested at least temporary entertainment.

Out in the limousine, Steve greeted Dr. Banner, Lexi, Ren and Domino. The girls nodded to him, and Dr. Banner pointed him to a spot between himself and Lexi. Knowing how the singer made the doctor uncomfortable, Steve politely accepted the offer. Although pouting slightly, Lexi said hello bouncily enough.

“All right, where are we going?” Steve asked once Stark had been mildly concussed by Ren for trying to sit by her.

“We’re going to visit Phillipa, of course. Get with the century.”

“Aw, don’t be mean to Steve,” Lexi scolded. “He’s the one who saved Phillipa.”

“Are you setting them up?” Stark wanted to know. “Because he’s old.”

Lexi tilted her head and considered Steve. Under her surprisingly piercing stare, he felt awkward and more than a little disturbed. Domino reached around Ren and simultaneously thumped Lexi and Stark. Giving them each an equal glare, she ordered,

“Stay out of her personal life! You’re here on sufferance, remember? Steve,” and here she nodded to him, “And Dr. Banner are both welcome to come along, but you will not put ideas in Lexi’s head.”

“I’m giving you a ride,” Stark pointed out.

“Actually, your driver is giving us a lift. But if you object, we can walk.”

Stark calmly argued back, “They would never let you in. But with The All-American Boy Scout, Lover Of Apple Pie here, they might think we’re allowed.”

“And why can’t we wait until tomorrow?” Steve pressed, ignoring the attempted jibe.

Dr. Banner gave his first contribution to the conversation. “I received a message from Jemma Simmons last night. She said that she wanted to make certain I kept the hospital’s location a secret, and to be certain not to tell you or Stark. And then she gave me the address.”

“Suspicious,” agreed Steve.

“I think she’s worried about how SHIELD is going to handle Phillipa’s situation.” Dr. Banner spread his hands. “A.I.M. is a dangerous criminal operation, and if they have targeted her, there could be trouble, so I understand that they might want to protect her. I just wonder how far they’d go, especially if one of their own is worried about it.”

Steve took a moment to wonder if that was why Jemma had called Dr. Banner in the first place. No SHIELD agent could escape knowing about his protective instincts, heightened by his own monstrous capabilities. Still, it did seem both a little more and little less finessed than a real covert ruse. Now he was wondering who was pulling Jemma’s strings. None of the team had named their leader, in spite of the fact that they were clearly a unit. Who was in charge?

“And what tactics will they use?” Ren wanted to know.

“Well, they wanted to shut down my Iron Man project entirely,” Stark told her.

Dr. Banner shook his head. “She isn’t the threat, so they wouldn’t try to hold her.”

“For her safety, they might,” Steve reminded the group. “If they don’t believe they can provide her with the necessary protection, I can see that they might move her to a more secure location.”

“Rude,” growled Lexi. “We can totally take care of little Phil.”

Stark nodded in cheerful agreement. “And we’re no slouches, either. Besides, Mini-Phil may not want to move. What do you want to bet nobody’s asked her opinion?”

“Will you?” Domino asked point-blank.

Stark was saved from making up a decent lie by their arrival at the hospital in the Bronx. Everyone piled out of the limo. In front of them, the façade looked nothing like a clinic, but that was sensible. SHIELD would not want just anyone walking in off the street. Looking over the group, Steve nearly felt sorry for the organization.

“Mary Coulson, please,” Stark said to the nurse on duty. The woman looked up at the large party and narrowed her eyes.

“Miss Coulson is not receiving any visitors at the moment.”

“Pretty sure we’re the exception,” Stark told her cheerfully. “But, just in case, you can ask Director Fury to come and talk to us.”

Again, her eyes narrowed, but this time she reached for the phone. Stark leaned casually on the counter and gave his trademark grin and wave to anyone who walked past. Although it clearly worked for the inventor, Steve wished that he would treat the situation with a little more dignity. They were supposed to be checking on a gravely injured friend, not signing autographs.

“What hell do all of you want?” Nick Fury demanded, coming around the nurses’ station like an avenging angel.

“We would like to visit our friend,” Domino informed him before Stark could be flippant.

“None of you ladies are welcome here,” the director told her bluntly. “And Miss Coulson is not up for visitors.”

“And would you like me to tell that to Miss Cameron?” Domino asked, voice like steel.

“You can tell her whatever you damn well please. Miss Cameron is not the owner of this facility. Nor are any of you.”

Smiling benevolently, Stark held up his tablet. “According to the land deeds, actually, I am. Right out to 152nd. You really need a better fact-checker, Nick.”

“Land deeds do not give you the right to decide who comes into this facility, Stark. That’s my prerogative.”

Stark shrugged. “Then I’ll have to inform the police of the kidnapping.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Holding a person against their will, keeping them sedated and refusing entry to all of their friends- sounds shady to me. I’m sure the Police Commissioner will agree.”

Fury threw up his hands in irritation. “Will you stop being an asshole for a minute? Miss Coulson was badly injured in the incident last night. She needs rest, Stark.”

“And what are you going to do with her once she has finished resting?” Ren wanted to know.

“That is none of your business, Miss Nelson.”

Ready for this injunction, Steve brought himself into the discussion. Obviously Fury was getting angry. The rapid-fire pace would not trip him up, but Steve had a different strategy.

“Listen, Director Fury, we want to make certain Phillipa is whole, healthy, and safe. Considering what happened to her was just the other night, I think you can understand our concern, sir. Unless she’s dying, I see no reason for you to refuse us a glimpse. But if that is what you want, then I would like to speak to her primary care physician.”

Fury stared, completely floored. “You want to what?”

Since he had gotten the reaction he wanted, Steve did not change his calm and reasonable tone. “This is for the official record, Director. If you are refusing us visitation rights, I would like to speak to her caretaker, so that I can hear directly from their mouth that she is well.”

“Are you- You really can’t get information on a non-relative, Rogers. It’s not a guarantee.”

“Funny to hear you say that, sir. I know you were a soldier, and you know that our medics never refused to let unit members visit because they were unrelated. And you damn well know that even buddies could find out everything about their current condition. As a fellow soldier, I am asking you to let us see for own eyes how her recovery is progressing.”

An internal struggle played over Fury’s features for a very long moment. Appealing to his career in the military was the only thing that seemed likely to work in this case. Steve was willing to bend the truth about his past, if it meant they could check on Coulson’s daughter. Members of his unit had obviously been allowed to visit each other, but a buddy hundreds of miles away? He would have been lucky to hear of their death or recovery within months, not days.

“Dr. Simmons is her physician,” Fury finally admitted.

“But Dr. Simmons is a bio-chemist,” Dr. Banner protested. “She has field skills, but she’s not a physician.”

Giving him an angry glare, Fury explained, “She doesn’t have to give you all her credentials at once, Doctor.”

“We’ll speak to her, then,” Steve cut in as respectfully as possible. They really did not have time to quibble.

“Simmons is taking her sleep shift,” the director said, then grudgingly added, “But you can look in on Miss Coulson. One at a time, no more than two minutes each. That’s all you get, so don’t even ask for more.”

By unanimous agreement, the ladies went first. While Domino slipped inside the room, Stark started humming some kind of obnoxious tune. He grinned to himself and then boldly questioned of Fury,

“So, what are you planning to do with Phillipa after she gets her rest?”

“None of your damn business.”

“You’re right, it’s none of mine. But it might be the business of the Dean of the Manhattan School of Music.”

“Stark, what the hell did you do?”

Hands up and shoulders raised, the billionaire played innocent. “I just gave him the name of the- now how did he put it? Oh yes: the beautiful new singer with the angelic voice at Dark of the Moon. Hey, did you know she’s a YouTube sensation?”

Fury put his hand behind his back and his legs shoulder-width apart, a position of power and control. “Your point, Stark?”

“She’s a popular person. If she were to simply disappear- well, people would start asking questions. Loudly. Now that would be embarrassing for SHIELD. So I had a thought.”

“Spare me,” grumbled Fury.

“No, this is a good one. What if she doesn’t disappear? What if she just goes on like she always has? Because, and we all know it, bad guys are pretty stupid. They would never think that she would just carry on doing what she has been doing. It would be hiding her in plain sight, a little like the president.”

“And leave her absolutely defenseless?”

“Speaking for myself, I find that insinuation offensive. Are you saying we’re not scary?” Stark made an awful face. “Is this better?”

“Your face is going to stick that way,” Lexi told him.

“It hasn’t already?” Ren grumbled. Clearly they were finished with their visits. Dr. Banner moved to wait by Phillipa’s room for his turn. Although Steve would have gone, he wanted to see how Fury would react to Stark’s crazy, but undoubtedly brilliant, scheme.

“You all would look damn suspicious following her around.”

“Actually, not so much. Everyone knows we have a hell of a lot of guilt about Phil, and here’s his little girl- that’s not actually odd. So we give her a little help, and attention. She’s missing her dad, isn’t she? And she just got accepted into a prestigious musical institute, and will need to share that with someone. Oh, and there’s her fantastic job, at which she is quite happy just lately.”

“Are you telling me that you think you can run her life?”

Shaking his head, Stark clarified, “No, I’m telling you that you can’t. Because, see, it’s her life. And she needs to make her own decisions. You know, like Phil would want?”

“Fine. Do what you want. This place is full of fucking mutants and aliens and losing one won't kill anybody- oh, wait. It will. Hope you're ready to explain to Coulson's ghost how you morons murdered his daughter. I’m fucking handling it, but go ahead. Make my goddamn day.”

“You haven't done very well up to now,” muttered Stark, a little too loudly to be a real murmur.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Hey, you know what doesn't look good? When people kill themselves on your watch. Am I right?”

“It’s your turn, Stark,” Steve announced swiftly. “And be quiet in there.”

“Like that’s possible,” grumbled Fury and Ren. They glowered at one another, clearly not kindred spirits despite the choral nature of their speech.

“Look, Cap,” Fury said, turning back to the real discussion, “I know that you guys want to do right by Coulson, but what that girl needs is protection. The kind that no one but SHIELD can offer her.”

“We’ve been doing just fine, thank you very much,” Ren growled. “It wasn’t until your morons started following her that anyone got their back up!”

Domino agreed. “If you had left her alone, we could have taken care of that Myers creep without anybody being the wiser. You made her the target, like you do with everybody else.”

“We made her- are you all stupid? Miss Coulson has had a target on her back since she was born!”

Lexi nodded. “Of course she has. Her dad worked for you, didn’t he?”

Before Fury could strangle the little woman, Steve broke in, “Listen, all we are saying is that you should give her a chance to try our plan. She may not even want to. But she has to be able to make the choice herself. Hasn’t she had enough misery forced on her? Maybe it’s time for her to be happy.”

“Happy and dead are not a good combination.”

“It seems better than miserable and alive,” Lexi said with unusual solemnity.

Then it was Steve’s turn to visit Phillipa. Fury had not exactly given permission for Stark’s plan, but he had the feeling the director would relent. There were too many people investing themselves in the girl’s future. That sort of thing always gummed up the works.

Phillipa was still unconscious, and she did not look great. Although naturally a little pale, she now looked ghost white. It was better than she had been when he had brought her to Banner and Simmons, but he still felt guilty. If he had been faster on his feet, he could have caught Myers before he stabbed her in the back.

But he ought to be grateful that she was alive at all. While they were working to save her life in the ambulance, Steve knew he had heard Banner say that she had stopped breathing. She could have died, or been further damaged by oxygen deprivation. In the battles during the war, he had seen it often enough himself. Times had changed, and technology had improved a lot, but he knew she might have been lost all the same.

She was so quiet, and the machines made such eerie noises that he found himself leaning in to hear her breathing. When would she wake up? Hopefully she would not be alone when that happened. He would try to wrangle permission from Fury for one of the girls to stay.

He glanced around the room briefly, taking in the lack of flowers and well-wishes. Next to a mortuary, this must be the most depressing room in the world. Stark could be encouraged to send some flowers, and Steve would make her a card. Maybe something from home would help.

“I’m sorry, Phillipa,” he told her softly. “A lot of bad things happened to you because we weren’t paying enough attention. But we’ll be back soon, and we’ll take you home. And Stark has some good news for you. Things are going to get better, I promise.”

It was a promise he meant to keep.


	30. Playing Nurse

Phillipa woke to the scent of roses. She also felt more snug and warm than previously. Confused once again, she opened her eyes as fast as possible. As before, everything had changed.

Truthfully, not everything was different. The bed was the same, and the walls were still that awful white with ugly green lintels. Discordant beeping came from various monitors. There was were the similarities ended, however.

While she had been sleeping, someone had moved a rose garden into the room. And started a paper mill, apparently. Oh, and a balloon factory to top it all off. If she had been about five years old, it would have been a wonderland. Instead it was a bit oppressive, especially the smell of flowers. She stared at the balloons, cards and heaps of flowers in dismay. Who on earth would send so much?

Very slowly, she eased herself out of the bed. She had to pee, garden or no. No one seemed to be around, but given the way the windows were covered up to the top with vegetation, balloons and paper, that was not exactly a shock. Without anyone to walk her, she grabbed a potted palm that turned out to be fake and therefore light enough to be used as a crutch. It was an utterly ridiculous picture, she was certain. Therefore she was very glad that no one was about.

Of course, she thought to herself as she wobbled her way out of the door, Agent Ward would be the first person to spot her. He stared for a moment. Then, recovering from the no doubt hilarious tableau, he hurried over.

“You should be in your bed,” he insisted.

“I have to pee,” she retorted back. “Right now.”

He goggled slightly, but rallied. “There’s a lavatory on the left, third door down.”

Yesterday- was it yesterday?- that would have been hardly any distance. Well, she was not going to pee on the damn floor. Slowly, testing the abilities of muscles she had not spent a lot of thought on before, she worked her way along. For whatever reason, Agent Ward followed along.

“You know, if you had two of those, they could be like crutches,” he ventured at the second doorway. “And if you put them together, it would be like applause.”

Aghast, she turned her head to stare at him. Had he just made a horrendous pun? Now? This was just about the worst time for that kind of behavior.

“Uh, it’s a joke,” he qualified. “My boss said I should try to be more personable. Jokes help build camaraderie.”

“Not when someone is struggling to the bathroom,” Phillipa panted, heaving the palm ahead of her and taking slow shuffling steps.

“I could carry you,” he offered, moving to assist.

“I can do it,” she snapped. “I’m just- I’m taking my time, okay?”

Ward continued to eye her like she was a madwoman. She probably was being unreasonable, but she did not want to be helpless around complete strangers. All of her experiences in that regard had been unpleasant. Why trust people when she knew what happened in the end?

Loki would never hurt me, she thought suddenly. How badly she wanted that to the be truth. If it was a lie, would it be worth it? Could she face losing all the love in her life just to believe for a moment that it was real?

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re moving slowly.”

“If you keep interrupting me, I swear to God, I will pee on your shoes!”

Agent Ward took the hint for a few further steps. Then he came to stand beside her. Silent, he made certain she reached the door and opened it for her. He kept the plant, since it was a single-occupancy room and there was not enough space for decorative objects.

As she sat down gratefully on the toilet seat, she admitted that she had not been exactly kind to Agent Ward. He had been offering help and companionship- awkward companionship- and she had been a grump. Once she found a way to stand up again, she would have to apologize.

After a long and somewhat painful battle with her own body, Phillipa made her way sluggishly to the sink. She washed her hands mechanically, eying her reflection in wary disapproval. Jay had thought she looked bad the other night, but this took the cake. Finally, after years of threatening, her hair had gone nova. Perhaps after asking forgiveness, she would seek a comb.

Carefully, she crossed to the door and turned the handle with a shaky hand. Suddenly, she was utterly drained again. The handle slipped from her fingers and she said something choice.

“You do need help,” Agent Ward told her, opening the door.

“I’m tired,” she confessed.

Without any ado, Ward simply pulled her out into the hall and sat her in a wheelchair. While not rough, he was more businesslike than gentle. Still, it ended up better than walking with a potted plant. Helpless, but not in as much pain, nor so stupid-looking.

Jemma was waiting in the recovery room, giving the jungle the same leery expression Phillipa knew she had worn earlier. “It’s all fine and good to be getting good wishes, but Mr. Stark went a bit far here. I’m amazed he left any room for the bed, come to think of it.”

“I didn’t ask him to,” Phillipa insisted, ashamed of the display.

“He doesn’t have to be asked,” Jemma muttered. “But in this case, I do believe we can blame Steve Rogers. According to Lexi, he made the suggestion. And Stark took it, as they say, to heart.”

Agent Ward shook his head in disgust. “It doesn’t actually make anyone feel better.”

“Not at this level, certainly,” Jemma agreed. “And you can tell him so when he comes to visit this afternoon. Come on, let’s get you back into bed.”

With much more care than Agent Ward, Jemma helped Phillipa maneuver from the wheelchair to her bed. Now she noticed the new blanket: brown with white flowers and brilliant pink stripes. It was just this side of atrocious, but she had to admit it was warm, which the hospital blankets could never hope to be.

Before allowing her to sit back, Jemma checked on her wound. The positioning made it impossible for Phillipa to see it for herself, but she had a feeling it was every bit as bad as it felt. She had been stabbed, after all.

Clucking her tongue, Jemma scolded, “You’ve pulled a stitch, young lady. I’ll have to have a surgeon look at it, but I expect we’ll have to redo it. And you were healing so beautifully.”

Wincing, Phillipa tried not to imagine what that would be like. “That’ll hurt, right?”

“Less than putting you back together in the first place,” Agent Ward noted supportively.

“I was unconscious,” she reminded him.

“Don’t worry. It isn’t as bad as all that. Oh, Grant, do you know where that bottle is? The one Agent Sitwell left?”

Agent Ward looked around the room in irritation. “Somewhere under all this mess.”

“Sorry,” Phillipa felt moved to say, watching them dig through Stark’s horrendously embarrassing and confusing display of affection.

“It’s not your fault, dear. The man just has no sense of proportion. Why don’t you sit back and look through your cards? I’m almost certain it was on that table, Grant.”

Cowed, Phillipa did as she was told. There was a serious stack of them, and not all of the cards were from people she knew personally. Quite a few of the signatures included the preface “agent,” however, and she had to wonder if Stark had found her father’s old colleagues. Then, coming across a card from Erin, she read something that disturbed her.

“What does Erin mean, ‘Sorry to hear that you were mugged?’ I wasn’t.”

Jemma and Agent Ward exchanged glances, before Ward told her, with serious reluctance, “It’s your cover story.”

“Cover story? But why? I don’t need one.” Looking at their faces, she asked in a small voice, “Do I?”

“If you want to return to normal life, you do,” said Agent Ward calmly. “If others in A.I.M. find out you were actually held and attacked, they may decide to try it for themselves. So, we made up an alibi that fits your current conditions. As far as anyone who was not present is concerned, you were viciously attacked in the alleyway behind your workplace by a thug looking for money.”

“But that’s a lie.” Even if it kept her safe, Phillipa hated the thought of fibbing to people she wanted very much to consider friends. She had done enough bending of the truth as a child.

Jemma put a hand over hers, eyes full of sympathy. “Your safety is much more important, and it is the truth, after a fashion. You were attacked, and he was looking for money. Everything else is just accessory after the fact. Trust us, Phillipa. It’s our job to keep you safe.”

“I know,” she said weakly. “But I don’t want to lie.”

Agent Ward nodded. “You shouldn’t have to. But the circumstances are such that you must. Think of what kind of danger you might put your co-workers in. Think of it like this: what they don’t know won’t hurt them, or you.”

Sighing, Phillipa looked down at the fairly terrible blanket. “I know.”

“It’s not pleasant, but it is necessary,” Jemma assured her.

Feebly, Phillipa said, “Thank you. I know I must sound pretty stupid.”

“There’s nothing stupid about having moral standards,” Agent Ward said with more vehemence than she expected.

“Exactly so. Now, I’m off to find the surgeon to take a look at that popped stitch.”

As good as her word, with one more of her full, yet tender smiles for Phillipa, Jemma left. Phillipa was left staring bashfully at the pile of cards on the blanket. She was not sure if Agent Ward was staying because he felt that he should, or because he had orders, but he remained. Glaring at the flowers, he suggested,

“I could ask the nurse to take these out of here.”

“It’s okay. It’s better than that awful green, I guess.” Nervous, Phillipa picked at her new cover. “Um, Agent Ward? I’m sorry. About being grumpy, I mean. I know you were just trying to help.”

To her surprise, he grinned. “If the rumors about your dad are true, Miss Coulson, you’re a chip off the old block. They say he was a real terror.”

Given that sort of compliment, Phillipa had to wonder how poorly she had behaved. Not that, in all, she did not deserve the reputation with him. Had she done anything but yell at him up to now? Maybe she should have listened to him the first time, although he had dreadful timing.

“What’s going to happen now?” Phillipa asked. “I don’t have insurance.”

Agent Ward shook his head. “You’re covered. Trust me.”

“Oh. Is it because my dad-”

“You’d be covered even if he wasn’t a former agent. When we set out to take care of someone, we don’t present a bill later on.”

“Oh. Um, thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Phillipa looked at the pile of cards again. “Did everyone come to see me? How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days,” Agent Ward said. “It wasn’t an army that came to see you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Three of your friends, and Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner and Mr. Rogers came over the day after you were admitted to check on you. Director Fury looked in on you, and Agent Sitwell has been by twice.”

Feeling her eyes widen, Phillipa bit back the urge to call him a liar. “That’s a lot of people.”

“You’re a popular girl,” Jemma told her, bringing in a man in a white coat. “Of course, what Agent Ward isn’t saying is that he’s been in here every day himself. And he left Skye, Leo and myself out entirely.”

“I wasn’t about to name every single person who’s been through here. Would you like me to include the nurses and doctors? How about the janitor?”

“All right. Let’s not get carried away, you two.” The doctor who had come with Jemma wagged a finger at them. “I’m sure the kid doesn’t need all the drama. Let’s get her upright so I can see that stitch.”

Politely, Agent Ward turned away while Jemma and the new doctor opened the back of her gown. Muttering under his breath, the surgeon felt along what felt like a line of stitches. He was too quiet for Phillipa to hear properly. After a particularly painful prod, she shot upright a little too fast. This time it was Agent Ward who caught her, still keeping his eyes averted.

“I think we can agree that hurts,” he snapped at the doctors.

“These are a little tight,” the surgeon said, ignoring him. “You just pulled another two, young lady. I think we’ll snip a few more to ease the tension. Otherwise any time you get it into your head to jump, you’ll be letting your guts fall out of your back.”

Feeling the blood draining from her face at the thought of the blood draining out of the rest of her body, Phillipa humbly suggested, “I can be still.”

“Oh, we’ll take care of that. Clearly you need to be better sedated. No time like the present.” So saying, he jabbed her thigh.

Jemma looked appalled. “I don’t think it’s wise to give her so much-”

“She’ll be fine. She needs to be sedated for transport anyway.”

“Transport?” Phillipa asked, frightened.

“Oh, we have a facility better suited to your needs,” the doctor said casually, but Jemma put her hands on her hips.

“You are not authorized to transfer Miss Coulson. The director has already said she’s staying here until she’s fully recovered.”

“Come on, this is a golden opportunity. It’d be a shame to miss it. Besides, with a body like hers-”

Surprising both Phillipa and the doctor with her strength, Jemma grabbed his elbow and yanked him from the room. “Dr. Pym, I understand your enthusiasm in the heat of the moment, but this is not happening. She is staying here, as Director Fury ordered.”

“You mean as Director Fury was bullied into by Tony Stark and his thug friends. Think of the scientific value of a thorough examination! I already found-”

“Not everyone shares your passion for insects, Dr. Pym. Now, go with this nice security officer and don’t come back. I only agreed to consult because the director felt you could be trusted. After today, I’m sure he’ll feel differently.”

“What-” Phillipa began, in the ringing silence that followed.

“Aha!” Instead of answering her question, Agent Ward reached behind a vase and produced another bottle of blue juice. “We’ve been looking for this since those florists came. It’s for you, of course. From Agent Sitwell.”

Startled, Phillipa took the bottle. She stared at the familiar label, somewhat nonplussed. In her daze, she noted the brand- Fury Industries. Was that related to SHIELD? No. She cast the thought aside. She had learned to read from this label. Surely the director of SHIELD had changed in the intervening years. A job like that had to put a strain on a person.

Abruptly, Phillipa started to feel nauseated. “Oh- oh God, I feel sick.”

“An adverse reaction to the sedative,” Jemma concluded. “Here’s a pan to be sick in. Best to get it all out.”

There was no part of illness that Phillipa hated more than vomiting. Even though it usually ended quickly, and did not occur as frequently as fevers or runny noses, it was violently awful. Head over the pan, with Jemma cupping a towel under her chin, Phillipa would rather have stabbed herself in the eye than do this again. She puked her guts out, keeping her eyes clenched shut until Jemma said the pan was gone.

“Rinse out your mouth with this water, dear. Then you can spit into this new pan.”

Having done as she was bid, Phillipa remained hunched over in purest misery. Partly because of the burning in her throat, and mostly because of how humiliated she felt, there were tears spilling out of her eyes. Gently, Jemma encouraged her to dry her face and sip at the water.

Having disappeared the very moment Phillipa announced she felt poorly, Agent Ward now poked his head in. “Finished?”

“Yes, you can rejoin us. It’s policy,” Jemma explained to the bewildered Phillipa, who suspected a revolving door would be more appropriate at this point. “Unless you have a strong stomach, you’re better off leaving the room. I had a lot of cousins, and we all of us had the flu every winter, so I’ve gotten well used to it.”

“Washing hands never occurred to you?” quipped Agent Ward.

“I doubt it. Someone always came to the table with scummy fingers, I know that. Here, where’s that juice? Your stomach seems settled enough, Phillipa. Let’s get some electrolytes into you.”

“I’m still going to fall asleep, aren’t I?” Phillipa had to ask, trying to avoid guzzling the liquid. It tasted a hell of a lot better than puke.

“You’ll be out for a while,” Jemma affirmed. “But, lucky for you, we’ll loosen those stitches while you sleep. You won’t feel a thing. And don’t worry about Dr. Pym coming back. We’ll just sic Mr. Stark on him.”

“You don’t have to-”

Agent Ward folded his arms. “And if he doesn’t scare Pym off, I’ll tell- our boss.”

Noting the pause, Phillipa wondered why he was not naming names. It must be some secret. They could not even tell her now that she was safe in their own hospital. Maybe they were deeply undercover. But undercover where? And doing what?

Finally, the sedative kicked in. Her juice finished, Phillipa tried to set it on the table. She missed entirely, her fingers relaxing much too soon. It clanked to the floor, making Phillipa turn bright red in shame. Patting her hand, Jemma bent over to pick it up.

“Anesthetics make everyone clumsy. Go ahead and lay back. Get a good rest. I expect when you wake up, you will actually be ready to walk around.”

“Try not to molest the palm trees, though,” said Agent Ward, and Phillipa had to smile. He had finally managed to get a joke’s timing and propriety just right.


	31. House-keeping

“Why are they here?” Ren growled. The visitors chose to look inconspicuous, unconcerned or very pleased, as was their wont. Turning to look, Domino actually smiled.

“Because they can do the heavy lifting.”

“Yay, lifting!” squealed Lexi, cheered immensely. Now she would not have to carry all the boxes down the stairs. Score one for being female.

“I have a heart condition,” Tony pointed out, leaning against the door frame.

“You have a heart?” asked Lexi, cheekily.

“Now that was deeply evil insinuation, Miss Lexi,” he chided, pretending to be hurt.

Ren snapped, “Or truthful.”

“Simmer down, kids,” Domino ordered. “We need to pack up Phillipa’s things, not bicker. Her landlord is getting pretty snippy about the vacancy. Grab a partner and get packing- no, Lexi, Dr. Banner is going to help me. The last thing I want is you drooling all over the floor.”

“It wasn’t going to be all over,” Lexi whined. “Just most everywhere.”

“Not happening. Dr. Banner with me, Stark with Lexi, and Steve and Clint with Ren.”

Tilting his head to the side in contemplation, Tony noted, “You know, none of you call me by my first name. Is this because you don’t like me?”

“No, because then we wouldn’t mention you at all, like Ren. I’m taking her bedroom, Lexi in the kitchen, and the rest of you everywhere else. We should be done in an hour.”

Split up, it was still noisier than Phillipa’s place usually was. Lexi started with the dishes, which were mostly little Phil’s. Reaching into the box of supplies they had brought, she found the newspaper. Tony was nosier than she was, and therefore stuck his face immediately into the refrigerator.

“Oh-ho, definitely college-age tenants.” He held up a container that seemed to be all mold.

“That’s Karen’s,” Lexi told him.

“How do you know?” Tony asked.

“Phillipa doesn’t keep anything in the fridge for more than a day. Salad does not last long around her, believe you me!” Wrapping up a plate, she suggested, “You should look in the cupboards. Those three in the corner are hers.”

She heard him opening doors while she boxed up the plates. As seemed to be standard, he made several funny remarks, including a disparaging comment about Mother Hubbard. Moving on to the cups, she resisted a snicker. Phillipa so rarely had more than a few cans on hand. Then he came to the last cupboard.

“Holy hipsters! She has more tea than my grandmother.” He picked up a box and shook it. “None of them empty, either!”

“Little Phil loves tea,” Lexi explained. “Unless it hasn’t got any actual tea leaves in it. Then she won’t have any of it.”

“Well that makes it all much more sensible- no, it doesn’t! What does she do with all this tea?”

“Drink it?” guessed Lexi.

“Yes, thank you. I never would have imagined she might do something so otherworldly as drink tea. I mean, why does she have this much tea?”

Shrugging, Lexi stuffed some more newspaper between the cups. “She drinks a lot of it. At least three or four cups a day. Hey, maybe that’s why she’s got such wonderful breasts and I don’t.”

“Probably not, kiddo.”

“Damn!”

Smartly, he laid the tea boxes on top of the dishes. They were too light to make much difference in weight. Once that was done, Lexi closed up the whole thing and heaved it out into the living area. Everything could be piled up until they were ready to bring it all downstairs in one go. Too bad little Phil’s building lacked an elevator. Lexi had thought they were required by law.

A quick search through the drawers and remaining cupboards turned up nothing that belonged to Phillipa. Not that this fact surprised Lexi in the least. She was well aware that the singer had almost nothing. Paying the bills probably kept her from collecting too much stuff.

“Come help us in the bedroom if you’re done out here,” was Domino’s command.

Dr. Banner was folding bedclothes. In the corner, they had already cleaned out the tiny dresser and the desk was bare. Tony was instructed to take it and the chair out to the living room and come right back. Lexi got to help Domino with the closet. How little Phil had crammed all this stuff inside of it and still had room left over was a real mystery.

“Oh, she hates that thing,” Lexi said passionately when Domino pulled out the white and pink sundress.

“And that’s saying something, if little Phil hates it. I have to say, it’s pretty damn ugly.”

“Hey now, ladies,” scolded Tony with a lopsided grin. “She wears it.”

“Because it’s all she’s got. Who needs a shirt dress that’s pink and white when they’re over the age of fifteen?”

Dr. Banner finished cramming a blanket into a box and said, “She has a point, Tony. It’s pretty juvenile for a young lady.”

Lexi clapped her hands together over her next find. “Oh, here’s her music, Domino! Look, she has the X-Files Theme. That would have been perfect for Sci-Fi night!”

“True,” her friend agreed. “But people haven’t expressed a lot of interest in hearing the piano. They like to ogle the girls, not the butt end of an upright.”

“So turn it sideways,” suggested Tony, reaching for the side table. He almost had the drawer handle in his fingers when Ren appeared and slapped his hand away.

“Get out of there!”

Nodding, Domino told the billionaire, “Help Dr. Banner take down the poster board. Slip it into a garbage bag. We’ll put it on top of everything.”

“And why, pray tell, can’t I deal with her nightstand?”

Lounging in the doorway, Clint drawled, “What’s in your nightstand drawer, Stark?”

Seizing her chance, Lexi said, “Condoms. Condoms as far as the eye can see.”

Everyone laughed over the expression on Tony’s face and his subsequent, “Have you been in my bedroom?” While they were preoccupied, Ren took a garbage sack and slid the drawer out into it. The contents she dumped into the bag. Since it was black, no one could guess what was inside. She put the bag into the box with the piano music and carried it out.

“Aha! Found her CDs. Poor things, they haven’t seen much action.” Domino started loading the cases into the open box next to her.

“Why not?” asked Clint, lifting up a box of bedding.

“Her player broke. We’re going to get her another one for her birthday.”

“Why not an mp3 player?” suggested Tony. Lexi gave him her best skeptical look.

“Because she doesn’t have any mp3s?”

Dr. Banner added, very intelligently, causing Lexi to privately swoon, “No computer, either.”

Steve looked in the door, but, seeing the crowd, did not come in. “We’ve finished out here.” 

“Just a few more things and we’re done.”

Even Lexi was startled. “Really?”

Nodding, Domino taped up the box beside her. “Just that picture and her alarm clock.”

Naturally, this prompted Tony to pick up the photo. “That’s not a bad picture of Phil,” he said with the air of one being extremely generous to a real bastard. Clint slugged him in the arm.

“Give me that,” Ren demanded. She snatched the frame from him before he could demand recompense. Thoughtfully, Lexi decided Ren would have kicked his nuts up through his ears because Tony would have proposed a kiss.

It was not as though it was a very good picture. Little Phil kept it on her nightstand because it was the nicest one she had, but the others were pretty bad. In this shot, her father was lifting her up to blow out the candles on her cake, so he was a little blurry. Only about four, Phillipa was almost unrecognizable from the beautiful woman she had grown into. But she was looking up at her father with an adoring smile, like he was the best person in the whole world. Thinking of what she knew of Phillipa’s mother, Lexi supposed he must have been.

Now she had excellent friends, however, if Lexi did say so herself. Therefore he would have tough competition in the long run. And there was the strong, silent one to contend with too. Apparently he did it for Phillipa in the bedroom. Who would have guessed she would actually be a sub? In daily life she was usually too shy to even speak up for herself already. Good grief, how did she even ask for-

Lexi cut off that thought as she claimed a bottle of cleaner and a roll of paper towels. Probably not the best plan: thinking of her friend in intimate situations. Then again, she really did have excellent breasts. Some girls had all the luck.

“Where is Karen?” Ren wondered aloud as she wiped down the inside of the refrigerator.

“I don’t know, but I bet it has to do with a man being hip-deep in her-”

“Don’t you dare finish that thought,” commanded Ren. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Adding a little sashay of her hips, Lexi huffed, “Not everyone is as repressed as you.”

“Amen to that,” Tony agreed from his position on the floor, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on the linoleum. For his trouble, he was kicked. He grinned in response. Clearly, he had a death wish.

“Gosh, Stark, I hate to see you reduced to this,” quipped Clint from the doorway.

“Shut up, Movers-R-Us.”

Domino called from the other room, “Put a lid on it, children. Let’s just clean up and go. I’m sending Steve to pick up little Phil’s deposit.”

“Did you keep something out for her to wear tomorrow?” asked Tony, moving on to a new sticky spot.

“No,” chorused the girls.

“I’ll have Pepper get something, then.”

“She won’t want a handout,” Lexi warned.

Tony ignored her, as she suspected he would. “I was thinking something in green.”

Through careful choreography, the girls shared a three-way glance. It was almost hysterical to be a part of. Since being friends was like having telepathy, they all thought the same thing. However, Domino was the one who said,

“Phillipa never wears green.”

Shaking his head, Tony pointed out, “She was the other night.”

“That’s just Jay dressing her,” explained Lexi.

“And he has excellent taste. Although I’d like to see her in something darker. Maybe with a belt.” Tony wagged a finger at the girls, narrowly avoiding a flick from Ren’s towel. “Listen here, every girl needs something nice, and I think the day she gets out of the hospital, recovering from a nasty wound would be a very good time to acquire some new armor against the world.” 

“And you know so much about girls,” grumbled Ren.

“What can I say? I’m a worldly individual.” This time he did get smacked.

“Are you all done yet?” demanded Domino. “Ren, quit flirting.”

Furious, Ren pointed at Tony. “He started it! And I am not flirting!”

Dr. Banner looked solemn. “He usually does start it.”

“Hey! Whose side are you on?”

“The winning side, of course,” Clint told the billionaire.

Giggling, Lexi tossed the last paper towel in the garbage bag they had designated for this purpose. “I’m done.”

“Here, Stark, I’ll help,” offered Steve, after handing an envelope to Domino. He took a rag and got down to clean the floor. More acquainted with this type of cleaning, he speeded up the process immensely. That induced the others to pitch in in other areas of the kitchen, but there was no room left for Lexi to help out. Best of all, Dr. Banner was finished too, so Lexi could simply ogle her childhood crush in telling silence.

Of course, he had not been her first crush. There had been that embarrassing thing with the boy band- but Lexi matured much faster than other girls in that regard. She was so over them before she turned fourteen. With science classes being the most interesting, it was only natural that she transfer her affections to a real scientist. She had, as most girls did, considered Tony Stark. For a wickedly cool and congenial genius, though, he was kind of an asshole. So, Lexi had searched elsewhere.

Running across a well-written article about the under-studied field of gamma radiation, Lexi had curiously looked up the author. That was pretty much that. He was a bit older than she was, but gray hair was so distinguished. As for the whole turning green issue: well, if Miss Piggy could love Kermit and be loved in return, what was a little rage between lovers? And she was dying to know if every part of him got bigger when he turned into the Hulk. Every part.

“All right, this is probably better than when the pair of them moved in,” Domino announced. “Let’s take this to the chute and get out of here. This is way too many people for one tiny apartment.”

“I’m amazed we all fit in there.”

“They’d all fit in Karen, too,” whispered Lexi to Ren cheerfully. The older girl glowered, but did not contradict her. It was proven fact: horrifically, disturbingly proven fact.

“What time tomorrow?” Dr. Banner asked Tony as they made their way down the stairs.

“Ten, if she’s awake. If not, they’ll wake her up at eleven. According to the lovely Dr. Simmons, we can feed her lunch, but then she has to get to her new diggings to lie down.”

“Oh, where is she going to stay?” Lexi inquired, very interested.

Looking very smug, for all that he was out of breath, Tony proclaimed, “In a lovely little dorm room all her own. She’s even got her own bathroom and shower. To be sure, it’s the farthest one from the stairs, but she can avoid the noise of everyone sneaking in late at night after curfew.”

“Do they even have curfew anymore?” questioned Clint, looking suspicious.

“Probably not,” confessed Tony. “But, the other bonus is that she isn’t on the floor with the communal bathroom, so she doesn’t have to deal with that, either. Although, I suppose for girls it’s less disturbing.”

“Not if you meet Cousin It in your shower room,” Lexi quickly reminded him. “Or the girl with the freakishly long toenails. Creepy!”

“Well, there you are, then.”

With elbow at the ready, Ren demanded, “Doesn’t she have to audition to get into that school?”

“Well, by rights, she should. But I admit to dropping a little money for a scholarship when the Dean said he wanted her on the roll. He is counting her videos as her primary audition. All she has to do now is have an instructor test her skill level.”

“You paid for her to get into MSM?” Dr. Banner asked.

With a vehement shake of his head, Tony clarified, “No, the scholarship is because they were out of funding for new students. It’s summer term, so that’s not surprising. And she couldn’t afford it on her own, so I was happy to help out. Just in case you’re all ready to come down on me about being selective, I did endow the scholarship with enough funds for three new students. It only makes sense for me, since I am so unartistic. Someone has to make up the lack.”

“You are totally weird,” Lexi declared. “But super nice, too.”

Nodding solemnly, Tony said humbly, “Thank you. I try.”

“You’re very trying, it’s true,” agreed Steve cheerfully. Incredulous, Tony obviously struggled for a moment. Then he put a hand on the taller man’s shoulder and said,

“I’d be mad at you, but I’m too damn proud.”

“Very touching,” said Domino. “But the girls and I need to get to work. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Adieu,” Lexi called several times over her shoulder, just to make sure Dr. Banner knew she would miss him terribly.

“Stop it, runt,” ordered Ren grumpily.

“What’s the matter? Sad that Tony didn’t kiss you?” Ducking her first punch, Lexi danced ahead. “Ren and Tony, sitting in a tree-”

“I swear to God, Lexi, I am going to massacre you!”

Laughing, Lexi hurried forward. This was how life was supposed to be: carefree and happy. That was just about enough dwelling on dark things and changes. Pretty soon, Phillipa would be back at work and honestly happy. She was going to love school and not have to pay for very much. Maybe she could save up and they could go on a bar crawl! Yep, everything was going to be just fine.


	32. Earthly Desires

In as dark a mood as he had ever been, Loki fervently wished himself completely alone. Not only had Thor’s idiot friends come tromping through several times, but the Gatekeeper himself had condescended to personally assure Loki of the safety of Asgard’s borders. Of course, disguised as the All-Father, he merited the interest. Ever the outcast, suddenly Loki was the center of attention, although not in the fashion he had longed for. Trying to keep his eye on his bride, he found his temper sorely tested. If all of Asgard wished to busy themselves in his chambers, they could at least send word ahead of time. Every one of them seemed to be following some secret path to his rooms lately.

Not so easy as the path his betrothed walked, however. How was it, he marveled, that she slipped into the forefront of his mind so easily? No matter the subject, always his thought traveled back to her. She was rapidly becoming everything to him. Or perhaps she always had been.

On Midgard, she was slowly recovering from the assault. It had already been one mortal week! His desire for her company nearly overpowered his common sense. Several nights had been spent at her side, watching her dreaming face. Skillfully, he could steer her dreams to more pleasant paths. She required the easy rest. For his own sake, he wished her a speedy recovery. He could not stand much more waiting!

Evading the security had been laughably effortless. The small-minded fools looked only for strange movements in their camera view. So Loki crafted a simple loop and foisted that vision off onto the camera. No one had noticed at all. So much for the glory and intelligence of SHIELD. As previously, it was all too easy to overcome their pathetic strategies. Of course, even if it had taxed his abilities, he would have done what was necessary. His bride was worth the effort.

Peering into the mirror’s depths, he knew that he could not wait much longer before having the pleasure of the touch of her naked flesh against his own. And her shockingly erotic tendencies! It had been more than mere enjoyment to dominate her as she had wished; it was fulfilling as well as gratifying. The suggestion that he could teach her of love in so many more ways than he had dreamed already brightened his lonely hours. Alluring in every respect, even as he watched from afar she was becoming his one and only fantasy.

What delicious torments he planned for her! Perhaps a little tenderness for their next meeting, to prevent frightening her. So many things about her lent themselves to thoughtful consideration. Those clothes she wore at her workplace, for example, provided him with many delightful ideas for future encounters. And there would be many. Having sampled her body once, he would be returning for the entirety.

From time to time, his daydreams turned to a tender nature. Indeed, he did want to hold her close in a loving embrace. The way she fit so perfectly against him and her fresh scent captivated him. Added to that, her lovely voice and adoring looks dared him to reveal his most intimate secrets. Her nature was the perfect match for his own, as full of longing as he was. She practically invited him with her dusky blue eyes and softly parting lips to her bed every time they met.

And her love was equal to his own, overriding her natural caution. How sweetly she had told him that she returned his feelings, although it clearly frightened and confused her to feel so strongly. She knew not how long they had been together. Soon, the time would come and he could tell her everything. Until then, he would hold her, loved and jealously guarded, in blissful ignorance. Loki knew he could not trust her yet to understand all of his past actions, and she would have much to hold against him. He needed her so desperately, craved the adoration he could feel clasping him as closely as her arms did, yearned for the tenderness felt in her words. If he should lose that-

But he would not lose. Too often, he had known the bitter tang of defeat. This was one victory no one would yank from his hands. She was his, now and forever. In the very near future, she would say the words and no one could gainsay such a vow. Even the All-Father must acknowledge its sovereign nature. It would be his ultimate triumph.

Neither would her side of the bargain be without compensation. How well he knew her lonely heart. For her, this would be the honest and faithful love she so longed for. Never would he desert her, nor leave her in terror and fear. It had been a mistake to not attend her properly in this last incident, and he knew now he could not risk such a thing again. She was his betrothed; his responsibility. Against all things, Loki would defend her.

It would not be long before he could return her proper name to her. Poor little woman, having thought that she must name herself in honor of her greatest traitor! She could not help it, having been so grievously deceived as a child, even as Loki himself had been. What lies she had been fed upon! Such pain they had brought to her! Truth would release those chains.

And he would give her such chains as she desired. He could hardly stop picturing her with arms held above her head, entire body exposed to his lusty gaze. With those beautiful eyes locked on him, anticipation making her breath come quickly, waiting desperately for his touch. And he would make her beg! She would learn to please him better than he could pleasure himself, and then he would reward her well. As she had before, she would submit wholly and deliciously to his every whim. He would own her!

Frustrated, Loki turned from the mirror. He could not wait much longer. Tonight, when those who called themselves her friends had left her and she was at her most lonely, he would go to her. In his arms, she would succumb as before to his needs. He would teach her more of pleasure than she had ever dreamed.

Until then, he must find something to do with his time- he had it! Grinning wickedly, Loki went to make good on his promise of a gift. For her, there was but one perfect choice: the unending symbol of their union. Very shortly, she would bear his mark and not even the Avengers would be the wiser. Fools!


	33. Friendship and Love

Phillipa was having yet another surreal experience. Lately, her life seemed to be comprised of them and little else. There were, at last count, exactly one dozen people waiting on her to leave the hospital. Where had all these apparently interested parties come from?

Pepper, Stark’s secretary, had brought her a shopping bag with brand new clothes in it, much to her chagrin. The tags were off, but no doubt they were expensive. Having no other choice, Phillipa gave in and allowed Jemma to help her change into them. She reserved the right to secretly hate them, but rather lost her impetus when she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Damn the man, but these were very nice.

Scoop-necked, with three-quarter sleeves and a zipper that went all the way down the front to the hem, the dress also had a clearly tailored silhouette. To her surprise, it was a deep green, and knee-length. She had never worn anything like this in front of Tony Stark, nor anyone else for that matter.

Also in the bag was a dark gray cloth wrap belt that fit with equally suspicious perfection. It was less a shock to find the black, shiny flats with adorable lace trim on the top of the toes and canvas strings with charms on the ends fit her. Jay practically posted their shoe size outside of the dressing room door. Since everyone shared most things, girls had to know who was to blame when the right shoe went missing.

Most embarrassing were the undergarments. She had taken absolutely not one peek in the mirror. But just looking down had been enough. Gold was apparently her color, which was all the better with their plain cut. How had he figured these out? Who was she going to murder for this?

“Oh, I have great taste,” Stark crowed when she stepped out of the bathroom.

“Do you?” asked Pepper sharply.

He gave her a bow, “When aided by your extremely capable interpreting skills, of course.”

Mollified, Pepper merely sniffed. The rest of the crowd was more vocal. While they offered an over-large amount of compliments, Agent Ward came up with a wheelchair. As in movies, no one could walk out of the hospital. Too bad she could not make it fun, or honestly cool.

“Probably the least exciting chariot you’ve had,” Stark noted.

“I used to scoot along on a single rollerblade with a friend. That was probably the least exciting.”

“Hopping on one foot?” Lexi asked.

“Exactly.”

“Oh, I used to do that too, but because we only had one. Did you ever get up to the top of a driveway and balance on one foot as you go down? I used to get so much road rash!”

“And how do you get road rash now?” leered Stark, earning him thwacks from Pepper and Ren simultaneously.

“Well, I am popular,” was his only comment.

Yet another marvel was awaiting her outside. Instead of a regular car, or even a sports car, Stark had brought the limousine. This explained the crowd. Gasoline was not so cheap that everyone could come on their own. So, here he was being generous again. It was so aggravating!

“What do you want for lunch?”

“Whatever I can scrounge,” she insisted firmly.

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he said, “The best place to scrounge is at a restaurant. Come on, kid, it’s a celebration.”

“Yeah, totally, little Phil!” urged Lexi.

With poor grace, Phillipa relented. “Wherever I can have a decent salad, then.”

While Stark talked gourmet with various members of the party, Jessica patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll go as soon as we’ve eaten, so you can sleep a little more.”

“Where’s Karen?” Phillipa inquired softly. “I kind of thought she’d be here.”

Leaning around Lexi, Agent Sitwell told her in equally quiet tones, “Miss Orwell hasn’t been heard from since the night of your kidnapping. Your landlord officially terminated her lease yesterday.”

“But where will she go? Wait- where will I go?”

“You just have to spoil the surprise,” scolded Stark. “You could have waited for her to have a good meal in her first. Or be taking a drink- that would at least be fun to watch.”

“What surprise?” demanded Phillipa, suddenly furious.

“Take it easy,” Jessica cautioned, but she was past that point.

“No, damn it! I’ve been kidnapped, stabbed, almost killed by some creepy science experiment, he bought me a whole new outfit including underwear and now I can’t even go home? What did you do to my life? I don’t want to go out to lunch- I want to sleep in my own bed with all my own stuff! This isn’t fun or fair!”

“That isn’t a nice way to talk to someone who’s done a lot for you just lately,” Natasha commented coolly.

“No, it’s fine,” Stark insisted. He put a hand on Phillipa’s knee. “I know it sounds like I’m an interfering bastard. I am. But in this case, I didn’t do anything but give your name to the dean of the Manhattan School of Music. See, he was looking for you to see if you wanted to enroll in the fall. Everybody here knows you couldn’t afford that and that seemed like such a damn shame to me.

“Kid, you’ve got more talent in those vocal chords than I ever will. Ask Pepper.”

“He sounds like a frog being strangled,” Pepper confirmed with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Okay, I meant later, but that will do. Maybe I am spoiling you by giving you a scholarship, but there was lot I wanted to do for your dad that I never could. So let me spoil you a little bit for his sake. He wouldn’t want you to never have your chance, Mini-Phil, and that’s the plain truth. And please stop crying, because I swear to God, I will buy you something enormously expensive.”

Phillipa took a deep, shaky breath. “Fine. But there had better be a GPA requirement or something, or I won’t do it.”

“Three point five or better, cross my heart.”

“Don’t do that,” warned Banner. “Something might explode.”

“Why, Bruce, I didn’t know you paid so much attention to my heart.”

Lexi glommed onto Banner. “Don’t you look at him like that. He’s all mine!”

“Uh, do I have a say in this?”

“Sure, as long as you say yes!”

“Sit in your own seat, Lexi,” Steve directed the tiny woman. “You can bounce around later, on your own.”

With a massive pout, Lexi went back to her seat. Phillipa took the momentary break to count heads. Stark, Pepper, Natasha, Clint, Steve, Lexi, Ren, Jemma, Leo, Banner, Skye, Agent Ward, Jessica and Agent Sitwell were all sitting around her. That made fifteen people in the limo, not counting the driver. What restaurant would be able to seat all of them with zero notice?

“I have an idea,” Clint offered, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “Let’s get shawarma, and Phillipa can have a salad. We can eat in Central Park, or something.”

Rubbing his chin, Stark considered the plan. “It’s not far from her new place, and shawarma is food of the gods- well, Thor anyway. Do they have salads?”

“Yes,” Natasha said from her place next to Clint. “The usual.”

“What is shawarma?” came the five-way chorus, mostly female.

“Oh ladies, and gentleman, this is an experience not to be missed. That settles it for me. Any objections, Agents?”

The senior, apparently, Agent Sitwell smiled. “If it agrees with Phillipa, I have no problem with that.”

“I can have a salad?” Phillipa asked.

“Absolutely. I’d got to the trenches for you to have leafy green things.”

Steve frowned at the billionaire. “Not the nicest way of describing salad.”

“I wasn’t about to wax poetic for rabbit food.”

While the group discussed their options, Phillipa leaned back and gave her eyes a rest. Salad or no salad, she would much rather be asleep. When was this exhaustion going away? Someone tapped her shoulder, and she reluctantly opened her eyes.

“Mr. Rogers advised me that you might want this,” Agent Sitwell said gently, handing over a small rectangular package. “It is yours by rights, so I convinced the director we didn’t need to hang on to it.”

Tearing the simple brown paper, Phillipa saw a photo frame. Confused, as seemed her ground state at present, she carefully tugged the frame from the envelope. She turned it over to came face to face, figuratively, with her father and herself.

It was a profile shot, taken on a sunny day. She was a chubby baby, laughing and reaching for his face. He was laughing too, probably nibbling at her little fingertips. Since her fingers were on his lips, it was a good guess. Better than anything she had ever had, the quality was magnificent. Studio portrait, she thought.

“He kept that on his desk. He always missed you when he was at work. One time he brought you- I thought our administrator would hit the ceiling. But he got away with it. And you were a very cute baby. Most importantly, you were quiet.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can,” Agent Sitwell assured her.

“Did I know what he did?”

Sitwell actually thought this question over. “No, I don’t believe you did. You were a little girl, and it would not have been easy to explain.”

“What did you think was your dad’s job, Mini-Phil?” inquired Stark with a grin. “Big hero?”

“Actually, I kind of thought. . . This is embarrassing, but I thought he was a car salesman.”

Eyes bugging out, Stark breathed, “Oh, how I wish Phil was here to hear you say that!”

“Why did you think that?” Natasha queried, languid as ever.

“Oh well. . . He wore a suit to work, but he wasn’t a lawyer. And he loved cars, so. . .”

“But what about the name of the organization?” wondered Steve.

“I didn’t remember it. It was something to do with knights and princesses-”

“SHIELD,” chorused all the agents.

“Right. But I didn’t know that until Agent Ward came to tell me to be careful, and I didn’t have time to look it up before now.”

Shaking his head, Stark declared, “You have got to get a computer. You’re a student; it’s practically required by law.”

“Oh, I can send you SO MANY emails,” Lexi squealed.

“No!” snapped Phillipa, Ren and Jessica.

“You never let me have any fun,” Lexi accused them huffily.

“Right, pile out everyone- well, except you, Mini-Phil. Hang out for a minute while we boost the economy.”

Released from all social obligations, Phillipa put her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. She had yet to recover her usual energy level. Thus far, she had blamed the wound for her sluggishness. But Jemma had said she could resume bathing and living normally, so long as she took things easy. Then, what was keeping her so tired?

“Whoa, don’t go to sleep just yet, Mini-Phil,” Stark ordered. He pressed a plastic container into her hand. “Your salad, madam.”

“Sorry,” she said bashfully.

“It’s okay,” Steve quietly assured her.

Having come to come kind of decision, Stark announced, “We’ll spread out a blanket so you can nap in the park. It’s been a nice day so far, if a little cool.”

As good as his word, Stark brought out the promised cover for her. Everyone ate, but Phillipa was fading fast. Only Steve was finished before she was asleep again. He put his coat over her, but she was already so far gone that she did not even thank him.

She woke up in her new rooms, being set in a chair. “What?”

“No worries, little Phil,” Jessica said. “You’re home.”

This new place was small, but still larger than she had expected. Compared to her old apartment, she seemed to have a little more room. The appliances looked about of the same quality, though. What struck her as honestly unusual was that it came furnished. She suspected Stark, but he was quick to allay blame.

“Jemma suggested the chair, for your back. Everything else came with the room. Wait until you see the rent. But that money comes right out of your scholarship, so don’t worry about it.”

Jessica offered her a pamphlet from the table. “It looks like someone is going to come by tomorrow afternoon to give you a tour. For now, I suggest you relax. Most of your things are put away- don’t worry, we didn’t let Stark peep at your underwear drawer.”

“I wasn’t interested, just curious. Do you know, even Jay wouldn’t give me your measurements?”

Ren swiped at him. “Quit being a pervert!”

Hands up, Stark insisted, “I said I was only curious.”

“Out!” She chased him with a bottle in her hand. Phillipa wondered where she had gotten it. Somehow they tended to appear around the mutant.

“We’ll be back tomorrow for that tour,” Jessica said firmly. “But we’re all working tonight. Now, this is your paycheck from last week, with your tips included. Jay says it is absolutely useless to argue with him about the amount. Here’s your deposit back from the apartment. And this is from Agent Sitwell. Says he got lucky and picked up another. I don’t know what the hell this is.”

“It’s blue juice,” Phillipa tried to tell her, although it was not exactly helpful.

“Sure, it is blue and it is juice. Listen, you can have a shower- you have your own shower. Or you could put away the last of your things. And Lexi picked up some fresh greens for you, so you can eat something for dinner. And there’s always tea. Pots are in the drawer under the stove.

“Don’t forget your pain medication, Jemma wanted you to be reminded. She said at seven would be the best time to take another pill. Go to bed before it gets too late. That’s made up for you.”

“Yes, Mother. Thank you, Mother.”

“Don’t get smart with me.” Jessica playfully cuffed her head. “Like I said, we’ll see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, little girl.”

“I will. Thanks, Jessica. Can you thank the others for me?”

Giving her a little kiss on her forehead, Jessica promised, “I will. After Ren finishes pounding Tony. I think she’s sweet on him. Never seen her so actively involved in beating a customer before.”

Making a face, Phillipa warned, “Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“No worries, little Phil. Be good! See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” agreed Phillipa.

Alone, she got up to see what there was left to put away. It was the only way she could think of to acclimate herself to the new apartment. Each room was generally the same cream, but not the institutional shade she had expected. Every window had both curtains and blinds, an unheard of luxury. Most of the rooms were hardwood floors with plain black area rugs, except for the bathroom, which was black and white tiled.

As she had been told, there was a full shower in the bathroom, a rather large stall, in fact. The sink in there was smaller to make up for it. Also, the kitchen was somewhat small, but it had a stovetop and a microwave, and even a deep sink. Facing into the living space where the chair, end table and shelves were situated, there was a small breakfast bar to sit at and eat. Lastly, she looked in the bedroom.

Immediately, she found it much nicer than her former room. The closet was smaller, but there was a full-size dresser and her desk fit into the corner with plenty of space left over for the bed. A slim swivel chair was tucked against the desk snugly. Someone had put a black garbage bag on the bedding, which was unfortunately that awful bedspread Stark had sent to the hospital. She was going to need that paycheck to buy something less hideous.

Checking the drawers of the dresser, she found all of her clothes, save for that awful pink dress. As she had sort of expected, there was room left over in every single drawer. Some of the things she usually kept in the bedroom she had seen out in the living area, like her piano music and CDs. What, then, was in the bag?

Sitting down on the ugly blanket, Phillipa reached into the plastic sack. Almost at once she knew where the bag had come from. The first thing she pulled out would be the vibrator Lexi had given her for Christmas. She had slammed it into her nightstand drawer as soon as she had gotten home, along with the condoms Lexi had also presented her with. Phillipa had not been able to refuse them, because Jessica had told her they were eminently practical gifts for a single woman. That fact aside, she did not want them. Where was she going to hide them now?

For now, she jammed them under the covers and dealt with the rest of the bag. It was not much, her nightstand drawer having been a sort of catchall. Hairbands, safety pins, band-aids, and bits of paper with song titles written on them were the main contents. After sorting them out, she took the piles to the various places that suggested themselves as the best. That left the hateful sex toy to be dealt with. It was so- so inappropriate!

Leaving it behind, she went back out to the living area to look at the check Jay had given her. Considering he had insisted via Jessica that it was non-negotiable, she expected it to be quite a bit lower than usual, or a bit higher. Pity pay, she thought irritably. With fumbling fingers, she finally managed to break the seal and pull out the pay slip.

It was more than a bit higher. The accompanying note warned again that she was to take what she got without complaint, and explained the extreme spike. Someone- obviously Stark- had tipped Ren very well, and since everyone shared tips, all the employees had partaken of the bounty. So there was no need, the note read, for Phillipa to get in a tizzy. Besides, Jay continued, since her debut there had been a dramatic increase in both customers and tips. If Phillipa kept this up, he was simply going to have to marry her.

Fantastic, thought Phillipa. She had now been proposed to by a man who had been gay since he could first toddle in his mother’s pumps. This day could not possibly get any more weird.

Cue the knock on her door. Gravely suspicious, Phillipa glanced out of the peephole. The young woman who appeared in view looked much less dangerous than anyone at Dark of the Moon. Instantly, Phillipa put her guard up. Her definition of normal was, for the moment, terrifically skewed.

“Hi,” said the new girl when Phillipa cautiously opened her door. “I’m Amanda. Phillipa?” 

“Yes,” admitted Phillipa reluctantly.

“Excellent! I’m your mentor. I know the tour isn’t until tomorrow, but I wanted to introduce myself and give you a chance to see me ahead of time, in case you had any questions.”

“I have thousands,” Phillipa warned her. The older girl just laughed.

“We all do in our first week, trust me. Have you read the pamphlet?”

“Not yet.”

Spreading her hands wide, Amanda said, “Don’t worry about it. I heard you were in an accident or something? so, don’t push yourself too hard. We’ll go super slow tomorrow, too. Are you all moved in? Have something to eat?”

“Mostly moved in, and my friend left me food.”

“Perfect. Listen, I have to go out for about an hour, but I’ll be back by three. After that, you can slip down the hall and ask me anything- well, not how atomic fusion works, because I don’t know anything about science, but school stuff. I’m room 206. My roommate is Nelly, but she knows you might come around. And if you need more food, or to borrow anything, just come by and ask. Trust me, anything you need.”

Slightly overwhelmed by this outpouring of generosity, Phillipa managed to say, “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be fine, but thank you for the offer.”

Smiling, Amanda explained, “Someone did it for me once. I’m just passing it on. And hey, if you’re lonely, or a little homesick, come hang out with us. We’re going to watch Dr. Horrible. How totally awesome would it be if we could do that for the musical this year?”

“My God, that would rock my world,” Phillipa breathed, awed by the very thought.

“I know! So let’s hope Neville and Anthony can convince the professors. Most of them are cool, but some of the most senior ones are a little- well, priggish is a good description. Don’t worry, though, none of them teach first year students, so you’re safe for a while. Okay, I’m going to head out. If I don’t see you tonight, which might nearly be sacrilegious, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Phillipa rapped out, and even added a salute. The older girl grinned and Phillipa felt about ten feet tall as she closed the door. She had had a positive social interaction with a total stranger and not completely flubbed it. Maybe, she thought, looking around her new rooms, she had finally found the place where she fit in.

What about Loki? She had not seen him since that first awakening in the hospital. How would he find her? She rubbed at her hand, a new nervous habit brought on by the black marks left from that creepy disc. Just about now, she could use a cuddle. Feeling happy was a little new still, and she wanted his approval very much.

“Miss me?” whispered a male voice. Jumping about a foot, Phillipa spun around. He was here! Today he was wearing his normal trousers and dress shirt, complete with midnight black tie. It was undeniably sexy attire.

“How do you do that?” she asked, even while reaching for him.

Obliging her, he chuckled as he drew her in near. “Magic, my darling. How else should I enter through your locked doors?”

Looking around his shoulder, she saw that he was not joking. The chain was even on, a New Yorker reflex if ever there was one. But how could that be? Magic was all tricks, not reality.

“How did you actually do it?” she demanded, terribly curious.

“Ah, you doubt me.”

“Magic isn’t real.”

“Is that so? Then how, my own, am I doing this?”

A slight sound caused her to look down. Before her very eyes, her zipper was undoing itself. It could not be a magnet, because his hands were down at her waist. Neither could it be a string, because she would have seen him tie it. But magic was impossible!

“I should admit it to be magic soon, or else I shall have you completely nude in moments,” Loki teased, looking full well pleased with himself.

“But I thought magic was impossible,” she protested, wriggling to escape him and preserve some modesty.

“Perhaps for mere mortals. But I am so much more,” he breathed in her ear.

Tempted to be blithe, Phillipa instead opted for solemnity. “You have stumped me.”

Smiling still, he claimed her lips for a long moment. “Then I take this as my prize in this contest. Tell me, my own, what are you doing here?”

Sighing heavily, Phillipa told him, “I wish I knew.”

Eyebrows going up, Loki asked, “You do not wish to be here?”

“No- well- I don’t know yet. It’s only the best music school in the city except for Julliard. And I could never get in there. So, I guess if they want me, I should go. I just don’t know if I’m good enough.”

Clucking his tongue, Loki walked his fingers from her clavicle up to her lips. “You are far better than you believe, my own. Practice will only improve your skills. I should very much look forward to hearing you sing for me alone, even now. Imagine how you will better yourself in mere months.”

“Or I will be just the same as ever,” Phillipa said stubbornly.

“All skills improve with use. Need I demonstrate?” Swiftly, he had her pinned against the wall, arms above her head. He slid his knee between her legs, forcing her to practically straddle it. With his eyes grinning impishly down at her, she had a hard time concentrating on the fact that her belt was undoing itself, the narrow ties coming apart as though he himself was tugging at them.

“What are you doing?” she panted, even though she had a damn good idea.

“Tell me, shall we play the same game as last time? Or is your wish a little different tonight?” He leaned down to kiss her jaw, from chin to left ear. “You know I will give you what you desire. You have only to beg, my heart’s own.”

“I don’t- Loki, my back-”

With one of his unbelievably sexy chuckles, he purred into her ear, “As you were told, you may resume your normal activities. And this will definitely be routine from now on.”

She could not hold back her squeak when he slid a hand between her thighs. “I’m supposed to take it easy!”

“Mmm, you will take it quite easily indeed.” Her zipper again started to slide downwards. “I have no wish to tire you before I have fully enjoyed your prowess.”

Given the circumstances, Phillipa felt she was making monumental effort to stay sane. “Please, Loki. I’m scared.”

“You need fear nothing from me,” he reminded her, but he brought his free hand up to touch her face. “Tell me why you tremble so. Do you doubt my word?”

“No. I trust you,” and it was pathetically true. “That’s what scares me.”

Head tilted to his left, Loki released her wrists. Tenderly, he pulled her in by the waist until she was flush against his chest. Softly, he kissed her, lips brushing only lightly against hers. In a playful manner, he rubbed noses with her and smiled into her eyes.

“I understand your worries, my heart’s own. In the past, you have been grievously injured by the very people who should have cared for you best. I know that pain. But you need not fear that I would ever take advantage of you in that fashion.”

“You would say that,” she had to point out. He brought her left hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She was weakening already. How did he know her so well?

“And I mean it. You are everything to me. My every waking thought concerns you. How did you consume me so quickly? What mortal magic do you weave in my heart? But I do not fear you. I know that you would not hurt me, as I know that your very smile can lift me from the utter depths of misery. Believe in me, my heart’s own. I need your love, for I fear I will not survive the loss.”

It was a deeply romantic speech. He did not accompany it with kiss or caress, as if understanding that she needed the words more than his touch. Was any of it true? Would she give in just to believe in him for a little while? Could she survive the loss of this love any better than he?

“I want to believe you,” she admitted reluctantly. “I want to so much it hurts.”

Sympathetic, he whispered, “I know it does. Be with me. I will share your pain, and ease it where I may. My only desire is to give you the happiness you have so longed for, and deserved.”

“Will we always be together?”

Now it was his turn to look pained. “I wish us to be. But in all things, we are subject to fate. The tides may turn against us. I will hold on to you for so long as I have the strength.”

To give herself a moment to think, she rested her head against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. He had not lied. He had not said pretty words to disguise the reality of life. Now it was her time to choose. Maybe they would not last, and maybe it would hurt more than anything already had. But could she let the chance slip away?

“I love you,” she whispered. “And you say you love me-”

“I do,” he insisted fervently.

She raised her head. “Then let it be enough.”

He pressed his lips to hers, still lighter than air. In a moment, to her dismay, he was crying. Now she could be the one to offer comfort. Hesitantly, she placed her hands on either side on his face, fingers tangling in his hair. Up on her toes, she kissed him with all the love she could muster.

“No one,” he gasped, clearly struggling to avoid sobbing, “No one ever felt my love could be enough.”

“It is for me,” she assured him, wiping away his tears. “We will do all we can for each other, so that we don’t have to be alone anymore. I promise you, Loki, your love will be more to me than anything else. No one ever thought my love was worth anything, either. But here you are. And I am so happy.”

“Are you?” he asked quietly, getting himself under control.

“A little more every time I see you,” she confirmed, feeling the truth of it. “Oh, Loki, I don’t know if we will always be together, but you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I won’t let go.”

Less passionately than before, he held her close. “Neither will I, my own.”

In all the closeness, it had not escaped Phillipa’s attention that there was a hard and insistent bulge pressing against her. Possibly not the most romantic of sensations, but it suggested her next course of action. As Lexi had always said, it was not polite to leave a man pining for your body- well, for more than a few days.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, and ignoring the slight twinge in her back, Phillipa begged, “Make love to me. I want to feel you with me.”

It was as if she had unleashed his passion all at once. His next kiss was vehement, conveying his desire as much as his wandering hands did. Before she could really get into it, he had swept her off of her feet and was carrying her to the bedroom. He set her on the bed gently, but proceeded to remove her dress much more roughly.

Again, when he came to her undergarments, he protested, “You have no need of these.”

“Everyone wears them- okay, maybe not some people, but almost everyone. Don’t you?”

Blue eyes full of devious purpose, he stood over her and commanded, “Come and find out.”

Still a little shy, she reached out for his belt. It was stiff leather, but eventually she got it undone. Then, feeling more daring, she undid the fastening and zipper as quickly as possible. Out popped his penis, in no way encumbered by any kind of underwear. She should have expected it, but it was still a bit of a surprise.

“You see how much more swiftly we can get matters done,” Loki teased, bringing a hand down to rub himself obscenely. It was fascinating and very arousing. She made to grasp it herself, but he caught her wrist.

“Undress yourself. I want to see all of you laid bare before me.”

Sitting up now, Phillipa met his eyes to see if he meant it. She thought men preferred to remove the woman’s clothes. Seeing a hint of steel behind his smile, she hurriedly reached back to unhook the bra. It gave her a little trouble, because it was new and the clasp was catching. Once it was off, she again looked to Loki.

“And the rest,” he ordered. Standing up, she slid down the underpants, thinking that she would have to find out where the laundry was.

The moment she was naked, Loki pushed her back onto the bed. He pulled her legs apart, intending, she thought, to embarrass her utterly by staring again at her vagina. Instead, he took her hands and placed one on her breast, and the other much lower.

“Touch yourself,” he insisted.

Startled, Phillipa looked up at him. “I don’t- I’ve never really. . .”

“Never?” he asked, eyebrows rising.

Blushing, Phillipa was forced to tell him, “My mother didn’t want me to learn about sex, and then- I never understood what was so good about it, and I was scared that it would make me. . . filthy- wrong.”

“There is nothing wrong with pleasuring yourself,” Loki told her solemnly. “Let me show you why everyone does it.”

He sat down on the bed next to her, guiding her every action. First, he directed her to cup her breasts, bringing her thumbs and index fingers together to lightly pinch her erect nipples at each caress. As she did so, he gently kissed her neck, not biting as he had done before. Then he put one of her hands down between her legs.

“Rub here, slowly. Just tease yourself a little. Do you feel yourself getting wetter?”

“Yes,” she panted, surprised by how soon she had begun feeling hot.

“Now, slip a finger down between your lips. Touch everywhere, and find where it feels the most intense. Ah, you like that, I can tell.”

It was amazing, and Phillipa felt slightly cheated by her mother. She had found, remembering from her last encounter with Loki, her clitoris. As before, it was sensitive to her every move. If she pushed against it too hard, it even hurt.

“Such a delightfully naughty creature you are,” breathed Loki in her ear. “Shall I teach you more of what to do?”

“I want you,” Phillipa pleaded. “Please, I want you to touch me.”

He chuckled. “I would, but look what I have found. Now, tell me, how can it be that your have never touched yourself, and yet you have one of these?”

Turning beet red, Phillipa tried to snatch the vibrator from his hand. “Lexi gave it to me. I haven’t used it!”

“Then you have no idea what you are missing.” Eyes dancing, he turned it on. “She even gave you batteries. What a thoughtful friend you have. Now, let me show you what this can do.”

He touched the slender toy to her breasts, playfully. She would have squirmed away, overcome by her shame, but he had an arm around her. Then he pressed it to a nipple and she gave up completely. Obviously there would be no stopping him, and it did feel strangely good.

“So quick to protest, but so soon surrendered,” he murmured in her ear, sliding the toy still further down. “It is for the best, my own. You will know that in just a moment.”

As good as his word, the very second the vibrator touched her clitoris, Phillipa jumped and gasped in pleasure. “Oh! Oh, Loki!”

“That does feel nice, doesn’t it?” he purred, obviously enjoying her reaction. “Now, slide your hips up and down against it. You’ll feel even better then.”

In almost no time at all, Phillipa had to agree. But she did not want to orgasm alone, no matter how intense it would be. Although having trouble focusing on anything but the vibrator buzzing against her clitoris, she turned her head to plead,

“Please, I want to touch you. I want to do it with you.”

Obligingly, he maneuvered himself so that she could stroke his penis while he kept on teasing her. Just the feel of him, so hard and hot under her hand, was enough to make her wish for something more. The thought slipped into her mind: she did have condoms. But it was much too late to change the flow. He had her in orgasm before she could even propose it.

His touch was loving as he eased the vibrator away and replaced it with his fingers and tongue. Mischievous as ever, he did not stop at simply lapping up her juices. Phillipa had no breath to protest as he brought her to a second impressive orgasm in minutes. Clearly, he was determined to make this yet another experience she would not forget.

She managed to raise herself up onto her elbows as her second orgasm wound down. “I didn’t make you- I mean- um. You didn’t-”

Smiling, he slid his body over hers. “And how shall I do that, my own? Tell me, how shall I pleasure myself with your body?”

Lowering her eyes, Phillipa dared to mumble, “I have some condoms, if- if you-”

“No, not yet.” Gently kissing her, Loki said, “You are not ready.”

“But I want you,” she whispered.

“You cannot yet take more than two of my fingers. I would harm you.” Nuzzling her tenderly, he declared, “We will wait until you are ready.”

“Then- then can I. . . suck you?” Shy, Phillipa could not make herself meet his eyes.

“Ah, I knew you enjoyed it last time. My naughty little lover wants to suck my cock, is that it?”

“Yes.”

“On your knees,” he commanded, and she hurried to comply.

He removed his dress shirt at last, revealing his long and lean chest. She put her hands on his thighs, looking up for permission. Gazing down at her with real lust, he nodded. Given the go-ahead, she began to kiss along his fully erect penis.

His hands were on the top of her head in moments, as she carefully licked and kissed around the head. Boldly, she even slid her mouth down to his balls, sucking one into her mouth to see if he would like it. By his sharp hiss of breath and the clenching of his hands, she suspected this was indeed good. From last time, however, she seemed to recall that he liked it best when she flicked her tongue just under the cap on the tip of his penis.

“Yes! Oh, yes, you dirty woman! Just like that!”

Careful of her teeth, Phillipa took the whole head of his penis into her mouth. As before, she rubbed her tongue all over it, and he even bucked his hips forward. The act forced more of his penis inside, and she struggled to compensate for the size. He was no monster, but she could hardly stuff all of him inside her mouth. How did porn stars do it?

Coughing slightly, she was forced to back off. While her throat recovered, she continued licking him, paying special attention to the places he liked best. Breathing in sharply, Loki grabbed her hair and pulled her back.

“By the stars, my own! You have learned.”

“Am I doing it right?” Phillipa asked, anxious to know if she had hurt him. He laughed, a little breathlessly.

“Of course you are, you naughty creature. I never would have believed that you would be so capable so soon. Lie down on the bed. I am going to release myself on your lovely breasts.”

Emboldened by his praise, she cupped her breasts for him. “Not right here and now?”

Taking a ragged breath, he put his penis back in front of her face. “Suck it out of me, then. Do it!”

Eagerly, she took him back into her mouth, sucking as hard as she could. It was arousing for her as well, especially with his hands pulling roughly on her head, forcing her to bob back and forth. She did her best, pleased to know that she could offer him something in this arena.

Then he grunted and her mouth was suddenly even fuller, with something hot and slimy. She released his penis, choking a little on the strange texture. But she remembered enough to keep a hand on it, stroking him even as she swallowed. More of his orgasm swept over him, and he shot another round and another, as promised, onto her breasts.

Phillipa would have thought him finished, but he got down on the floor with her and began kissing her intensely. His passion forced her backward onto her elbows as he pressed down more and more. Breathing hard, he demanded, “You naughty little thing, did you swallow that?”

“I did. Was that-” But he covered her mouth with his again before she could finish. His tongue twined with hers, and she felt his knee nudging her legs apart again.

“One good turn deserves another,” he panted as he released her lips.

At once, he began licking up his semen from her chest. He had not paid her breasts much attention tonight, but now he was making up for that with a vengeance. He licked, sucked and bit while she could do nothing but writhe under his mouth. Meanwhile, he was rubbing at her clitoris again. Already sensitive, it responded strongly to his every nudge.

“Loki! Oh, it’s so good. Please- oh!” She could not even get out a request for him to wait a minute.

Kissing her one more time, he urged, “Give in to me, my own. Let me bring you such bliss as you deserve.”

Hardly needing the encouragement, it nevertheless sent her over the edge. She bit back a cry as he induced orgasm. Head tossed back, she felt him finally bite at her neck and her hips rose up violently with the added stimulation. She loved the feel of his teeth sinking into her flesh, knowing that he was marking her as his own. She never wanted to belong to anyone else.

After a while spent simply lingering on the floor underneath him, Phillipa had to admit to the need for the restroom. Their fingers twined as he led her to the bathroom. She could hardly bear to separate from him, but some functions were still private. Once she was finished, he took his own turn, and then called her in.

“Let us wash away our sweat together,” he suggested, pointing to the shower.

Under the warm spray, Phillipa snuggled more than cleaned. Being so close to him was like a drug, and she could hardly get enough. Although he was all smiles and teases, Loki never pulled away. Like they had promised one another, they would not let go.

“I love you,” she told him when they had slid into her bed for the afternoon.

“I love you too,” he replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Sleep now, my own. I will wake you when it is time to eat and take your medicine.”

“And you’ll stay?”

Nuzzling against the side of her neck, he promised, “For the whole night. You will not be alone, and the nightmares will leave you.”

Startled, Phillipa stared. “How did you know-”

“Magic,” he murmured.

“But-” His gentle kiss silenced her protest.

“Give me your hand.”

Confused, she did so. He looked at the black marks, even while rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. Then he put his lips just above the flesh and said something which bloomed from his mouth in soft gold. Before her eyes, the marks merged, swirled and morphed into a pair of highly stylized snakes.

“What on earth?”

“Something more becoming to the eye, do you not agree?”

Boggled, Phillipa eyed the change in awe. “It really is magic?”

“Did not one of these mortal scientists say that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic? But in this case, yes, it is magic.”

Puzzled, Phillipa looked at Loki. “What did you mean by quoting Clarke, then?”

“Can a man not have a little fun?” chuckled Loki. “Do you like it better now?”

“Well, yes, it’s better than those burns, but no one is ever going to believe I got a tattoo- not today.”

Smug, Loki informed her, “No one will notice it. Not for a week or more.”

Flabbergasted, she looked again at the snakes. To her shock, they moved, twining around one another. Yelping, she shook her hand.

“They moved!”

Amused, he said, “They might, from time to time. Even you cannot hold still for very long.”

“It’s weird,” she complained, coming back into his embrace.

“New,” he corrected. “As is my gift to you.”

He produced from thin air a delicate chain of gold with beautiful white drops dangling from it. Stunned, Phillipa allowed him to fasten it around her waist. Definitely not for public viewing, then, she thought. But he seemed very pleased with the result and insisted,

“I should like to see you wearing it as often as possible.” Then, with an impish grin, he added, “And little else.”

“But I- I can’t accept this! I haven’t given you anything at all.”

“You have given your heart, which is more precious to me than all the gold in the universe,” he said firmly, clearly not wanting any objections. “I told you I would bring something to mark you as my own. ‘More permanent than my marks upon your flesh,’ remember?”

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. The time to protest had been then, and she had missed it. Still, this must be a very expensive piece.

Obviously sensing her unease, Loki offered lightly, “If you so desire to give me something more, perhaps you would honor me with a song. Tomorrow, my heart’s own, for you must take some rest. I intend to get much more use out of you this evening.”

Shivering from the hints of dark pleasure in his tone, Phillipa curled against him. A song she could come up with. But there had to be a more private place to do that. Hopefully no one had heard their activities, but they would certainly hear her singing to him. Maybe there were practice rooms? She could ask Amanda later tonight. Presuming he let her do anything aside from sex.

Loki drew up the blanket over her, and settled back against the pillows. Warm, if slightly frazzled from all his generosity and adoration, Phillipa felt herself drifting into a doze. It was more than comforting to know that he would still be here when she awoke. Finally, she was no longer alone.


	34. Things Best Left Unknown

Agent Ward was beginning to regret encouraging his boss to come along while they staked out Phillipa’s new dormitory. Without May, his other options were Skye, Fitz, or Simmons. Skye was out of the question, Simmons was cooing over some new alien biology she had gotten pictures of, and Fitz was, as far as Ward could tell, sulking. All of them would have been just as bad as his current partner. Not that Coulson was at all obtrusive- he could be invisible in ways Ward never thought of- but working directly with his superior was always a little nerve-wracking. He ought to be over that by now, but Coulson was as much a legend as Melinda May. For all his little quirks, Coulson remained ten times the agent that Ward was.

This was hard to remember when he was sitting on a bench eating a sub-par hotdog with all the trimmings. For someone spying on his child who believed him dead, he was amazingly relaxed. He even had his hand over the back of the bench. If Agent Coulson loosened his belt and put his hand under his waistband, Ward thought he would shoot himself in self-defense.

“Relax,” his boss advised around half a mouthful. “People will know you’re spying. Have a hotdog.”

“I don’t eat on duty.”

“Best time for it. Believe me, when you need to save someone’s life you’ll do a much better job on a full stomach.”

“Sir, aren’t we supposed to be watching Phillipa?”

Coulson crumpled up the wrapper. “And she’s still in her room. Now, if you would oblige me and stop looking like the stalker you are, I’d appreciate it. Get something else if you don’t want a hotdog.”

Chagrined, Agent Ward went to the food cart to stare at the unappetizing comestibles and make something look edible. Of course, nothing did, but he finally got a bratwurst and slapped on some mustard. It tasted twice as awful as he expected. Grimacing, he returned to the bench. 

“College food is even worse,” remarked Agent Coulson when Ward complained. “That’s why these carts make money. Should have gotten the chips if you were going to be picky.”

Glancing up at Phillipa’s window, Ward dared to ask, “What was it like, sir? Having a kid?”

Smiling reminiscently, Coulson told him, “It was beautiful. I never had a minute to myself, and I never minded. We used to go on long drives to nowhere at all and the only thing she wanted from me was to have the radio on so she could listen to classical music. My favorite color was her favorite color. And she never objected to eating her vegetables. She hated bedtime though, even if she would go because I said she had to. She was my perfect little buddy. We could do anything together and it was fun.”

“Then it was hard to leave,” Ward deduced.

“It was worse than when Loki stabbed me through the back. At least then I could be fairly sure I wouldn’t have to live,” Coulson said, gazing far away into the distance. “Never forget, Ward, when you open your heart to somebody, you’re giving them a lifelong lease.”

“Mine’s not to let,” Ward said firmly, believing it with all his might, except for the tiny little part of him that wanted to know if there were special terms for someone, like- it was just for comparison purposes, really- just a bit like Skye.

“We all think that,” noted his boss non-committally. “There she is.”

Ward turned to look slowly, making certain it only seemed that he was taking in his surroundings. As Coulson had noted, Phillipa was leaving her dormitory, slowly heading toward the campus’s heart. Tossing his brat in the garbage with real relief, Ward stood and stretched a little, as if preparing himself to get back to work. Coulson patted his shoulder in sympathy and together they walked along, fifty yards or so behind their charge. She never even looked back.

Pausing by a red brick building, Phillipa appeared uncertain. Looking up from a piece of paper, she made a decision and headed inside. Grant ambled up and then turned to survey the area. No one was watching. Giving his boss a nod, he slipped in after her.

He barely caught sight of her turning a corner. Cat-footed, he tailed her all the way down to a corridor full of rooms. Knowing where he was now, he continued past that turn and waited for her to choose a door. When he heard the tell-tale click of a latch, he stuck his head out and saw which room she had picked. Hurrying out the rear exit, he gestured for Coulson to follow him.

“She’s in a practice room, sir.”

Smiling, Agent Coulson said, “She always liked to have a head start. Which one?”

“Third from the left, sir.” He watched as his superior signed them up for the room next to it under false names. “Aren’t they soundproof?”

“Not as much as you would think.” Holding up a hand for quiet, Coulson let them into the space.

As predicted, when Phillipa began to play the piano, the tune was readily identifiable. Moonlight Sonata seemed to be a staple of her repertoire. If Ward noticed Agent Coulson having trouble staying neutral, he was not going to say. Too bad May was still laid up for the next two days. His boss appeared, so far as Agent Ward could tell, to be struggling with this assignment.

Then she started singing. It was unlike anything Ward had previously heard. Clearly alarmed, Coulson grabbed his arm. His lips mouthed two words: record it.

Fumbling, Ward produced his pocket recorder given to him by Fitz that morning and tapped it against the side of his leg to activate it. With great care, he set the device on the floor. The piano in this room was actually resonating with her powerful voice, so he put it nearer the wall that divided the two practice spaces to avoid interference.

She ended the melody and Ward felt safe in whispering, “What was that?”

Coulson simply shook his head. Already she was starting something new. This time it was recognizable as a song from the club. What had Skye called it? “All I Need.”

She sang for an hour, hardly taking any breaks. Sometimes she laughed, as if giddy with the excitement of having a space to practice in. Finally, she repeated the one Jemma had insisted was about Phil. Ward had to look away from his boss’s face. Never one to face his own emotions, the feelings that played so starkly across Coulson’s face were too much for Agent Ward.

As she left, Ward collected his recorder and listened closely. They needed to know which exit she was taking, so they did not accidentally bump into her. That would take some explaining. Strangely, she was talking to herself. He had not known she had that habit.

“Was she alone when she came in?” Coulson asked, frowning.

“Yes, sir.”

When they got out of the room, Coulson went to check the list again. “No one else listed. But the cadence of her speech suggested she was speaking to someone. Odd.”

“And odd is not good,” Agent Ward parroted straight out of the first class in espionage he had attended.

“Never,” murmured Coulson in agreement.

Leaving the building, they almost were spotted. His boss moved so quickly Ward thought if he had blinked, he would have missed seeing him dart behind a bush and kneel down out of sight. Since it would not much matter if he himself was seen by Phillipa, Ward ambled a little farther along before finding a hedge of his own.

The reason she had stopped was apparent when Ward got a good chance to look. Skye had come to visit her, and they were quietly talking. After a few exchanges, Skye gestured toward a bench and the pair took a seat.

“Remind me to scold that girl when we get back,” Coulson said, having snuck over from his previous position. Ward restrained himself from jumping a mile. And he had thought he was light on his feet!

“I wonder what they are talking about,” he made himself say instead. “I can’t read their lips from here.”

“Doesn’t matter. We’ll just ask Skye later. Why did she come by today without telling me?”

Thinking of a similar problem, Ward asked, “Have you checked your email in the last ten minutes, sir?”

Eyes narrowing, Phil wordlessly reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell. “Remind me to also explain why ten minutes is not enough warning.”

“Can do, sir.”

Effectively trapped, Ward and Coulson knelt behind the shrubbery and watched the girls chatting like old friends. Several times Phillipa blushed, and once she even leaned in close to say something in what looked to be a whisper. Had they become close enough to share secrets already? If that was the case, Skye was a fast worker. It did not seem her style, though. She genuinely cared about people, which could be very frustrating and precluded her, so he had believed, from using her skills to finagle important information out of them.

At last, Phillipa was helped to her feet by Skye. To his amazement, she gave the older girl a hug. Then she turned and headed back toward her room. Skye took the path in their direction. When it was safe to do so, Agent Coulson smoothly stepped out beside her and scolded,

“Skye, you are supposed to warn me in person if you have less than fifteen minutes leeway.”

“Christ!” Skye jumped away from him. “Don’t do that!”

“What were you talking about with Phillipa?” asked Agent Ward. To his disappointment, she did not appear at all surprised to see him.

“Girl stuff,” Skye replied after a pause, sounding unusually evasive.

“I wasn’t aware my daughter had any girl stuff to discuss,” Agent Coulson said mildly.

“It’s. . . I don’t know if I can exactly tell you. She asked me to keep it a secret.”

Coulson gave her a look. “Skye.”

Distressed, Skye pressed, “You told me it was important to worry about the line, sir. I don’t want to hurt her by giving away her secrets.”

“Agent Ward, take a walk,” Coulson ordered abruptly. Although he wanted to argue, Ward only sighed and turned to leave.

“Look if I’m going to tell you, I’m going to tell him too,” sighed Skye. “Just- God. Don’t let any of her friends find out before she’s ready to tell them. She’s so happy.”

Crossing his arms, Coulson let her know with a raised brow that he was ready. Ward tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting. When she was done waffling, Skye would tell them. She sat down on a rock with a heavy sigh.

“Did you read my report from last Wednesday night, sir? Not about the later stuff, but the club?”

“Agents Simmons and Fitz said someone appeared to be beating Phillipa,” Coulson recalled.

“And I said she might just be a little kinky. Well, I’m right. She has a boyfriend.”

Coulson did a very good impression of Mount Vesuvius, nearly complete with smoke. “She has a what?”

Hands palm up in defense, Skye explained, “She asked me if it was weird or wrong to like being bitten, like, bitten a lot. And I told her if it didn’t make her scared she was fine, but if it did, she ought to tell me who. But she just looked super relieved. She said she didn’t want her lover to think she was messed up, and he didn’t seem to, but she was scared he might.”

“Are you telling me that my daughter likes-”

“It’s really quite common, sir,” Skye hastened to assure him. “It’s got nothing to do with her childhood or anything, really.”

Coulson froze. “What do you know about her childhood?”

“Um.” Abruptly fasciated by the cement, Skye fiddled with her hair nervously.

Ward stepped in hastily. “I felt that she might need to know some of the specifics, sir, when dealing with Phillipa. She needs a cautious touch, and Skye can be enthusiastic. I didn’t want her to fail like I did because I didn’t treat her with delicacy.”

“That was almost a decent lie, agent,” Coulson acknowledged. Then he turned back to Skye. “I want a name, Skye.”

“I don’t have one,” Skye protested. “She didn’t say. Just that he was wonderful. I think she said that five times. Sir, really, I believe it. You saw her smile. Lexi told me that Wednesday she was happier than she had ever been. And that’s when, I think, the relationship started.”

“He’s hurting her, Skye. That doesn’t make people happy.”

Throwing her hands up, Skye said, “Well, the idea turns me on, sir! But thanks for making me feel weird.”

Ward felt his jaw going slack. With Herculean effort, he avoided gaping at her. That was not the kind of confession he had ever anticipated coming from her mouth. How did she do that? Just openly telling people that she liked kinky stuff, as though the whole block could not hear her- and some people had even turned to get a good look.

“We are not discussing your. . . sex life, Skye,” Agent Coulson managed to say.

“No, we’re discussing hers. And I’m telling you, I think it’s fine. She’s happy. Why do you want to take that away?”

Softly, Coulson insisted, “I’m not taking it away, Skye. I’m worrying. It’s what fathers do.”

Crossing her own arms, Skye corrected, “Fathers are supposed to support. So she likes a love bite or three- what part of that didn’t you do when you were her age?”

Cue the ground opening up beneath him, Agent Ward thought desperately. They equally were not here to discuss anything their boss may or may not have done in the throes of passion. Was it too late to be transferred to a less disturbed unit?

“She’s too young for sex,” Coulson shot back. “She’s too-”

“She’s twenty-two. When did you start having sex?”

“We are not here to talk about me and what I did, Skye.”

Getting in his face, which was never smart, Skye snapped, “So it’s okay for you to get started early, but not her? I know you married her mother practically right out of school, and you were probably active before then. That’s hypocritical shit I didn’t expect from you, of all people! If she’s old enough to decide what to do with her life, she’s old enough to make mistakes too!”

“She isn’t ready for that kind of emotional-”

“Don’t feed me that crap! God, what do you think she has friends for? You’re not the only person in the whole world who cares about her. Stop acting like you have to save her from everything. Let her be her own person.”

“She cannot do everything on her own,” Coulson reminded her. “There’s a lot of bad people out there just waiting for the chance to take a shot at her.”

“Well, you should have thought of that before you ran away from your obligations as a parent,” Skye pointed out, to Ward’s horror. “You want to be the boss of her life, but you weren’t there for sixteen years. That’s too damn long to think you can sweep right in and arrange her affairs to your liking.”

“Skye, go back to the bus right now. You’re on disciplinary probation from this moment on.” Coulson’s voice was like ice.

Again, Skye threw up her hands. “Fine, whatever.”

Ward made to go with her, but Coulson shook his head. “Let her stew in it, Ward.”

“Sir,” Ward began, and then fumbled to a stop, unsure what to say.

Patting his shoulder, Coulson said quietly, “Don’t worry about it, Ward. It’s not like I haven’t heard it all before. Skye’s got a hair-trigger temper, so I can’t say I’m surprised, either. Agent May will talk with her later on. She can’t second guess her superiors. Just imagine if she talked to the director that way.”

“I’m not sure we’d see much of her after that. Pieces, maybe,” Ward ventured.

“Was that very nearly a joke, Agent Ward? You’re coming along nicely.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ward was not sure what joking had to do with being a good agent, but right about now, he was going to take this side of his boss for as long as it lasted. It was a hell of a lot better than being on probation. Or missing his tongue, which is what Director Fury would have taken from Skye as punishment.

This, he reflected, was what came of consulting civilians. Skye was great with computers and she was a very nice-looking girl, but Agent Coulson gave her too much freedom. He would never run his mouth off in front of his superiors, but Skye did it all the time. Mostly, she even got away with it. In all, it was probably for the best that she was in trouble.

But he was still going to bring her a mocha. There was such a thing as honor among thieves. And co-workers. Did not hurt, said an annoying little part of him, that she was an even more beautiful girl when she smiled. For a mocha, he would get a big grin.


	35. A Little of Everything

After Loki kissed her goodbye (for the moment), Phillipa lingered in her bedroom for a little while, curling up in the spot he had been sitting on her bed. Probably she should not have confessed to Skye all that private stuff, but she wanted to tell someone! Sighing, she wondered when he would be back and what they would do together.

Suddenly, she realized the time. Everyone was going to show up shortly for the tour! Remembering herself enough to put some concealer over the snakes on her hand, Phillipa prepared to be scooped up by her friends. Just lately, there were a lot of them. Along with the top three suspects, Mr. Stark had invited himself and his crowd, including his best friend, Rhodes. Somehow, she had expected Amanda to be overwhelmed. Instead, the older girl showed a lot of teeth and said they had better listen up, because she would be testing them on the tour later.

“I almost expected your boyfriend to be along for the ride,” Amanda murmured to her in the ladies’ room before they headed out.

“Oh, um, he’s a little shy,” Phillipa tried to excuse Loki.

“Well, with that kind of crowd, I can’t say I’m surprised. You two are very close, though.” And here Amanda waggled her brows in a suggestive manner.

Blushing, Phillipa had to duck her head. “He said he liked Dr. Horrible a lot.”

With a chuckle, the redhead allowed her to sidestep the subject. “I don’t know many people who find it anything but awesome. Ready? Let’s get a move on, then.”

With her close-cropped red hair, freckles galore and big hazel eyes, Amanda looked every inch of the mischievous spirit she was. She kept the pace up, never leaving enough room for more than one smart remark from Mr. Stark. Careful of Phillipa’s health requirements, she took them via every single shortcut she knew. All the while, she referred Phillipa back to the map and extensive notes she had made into a convenient packet.

“I get a grade on how often you’re late to classes the first week,” she teasingly insinuated. “Best to give you every trick I know.”

The tour ended with the practice rooms Phillipa had visited that morning, and the larger space she had noted at the end of the hallway. Although not as tired as she had been the day before, Phillipa was still leaning on Jessica a bit. Amanda peeked through the glass, and then beckoned them into the big room with her other finger to her lips.

At the raised platform stood a tall blonde man, who was instructing a small crowd of young people. He had a light Irish brogue. In answer to a question about intonation, he burst into a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. His voice was lovely, and Phillipa ought to have been impressed. Certainly everyone else seemed to be.

“That’s Professor Cassidy, on loan from abroad. Wasn’t that lovely?”

“His intonation wasn’t right in the last phrase,” Phillipa stupidly said, earning her incredulous looks all around.

“Who’s the little lass besmirching my good name?”

Like the Red Sea before Moses, everyone backed to one side or the other, leaving Phillipa wholly exposed. This would have been a great time, she thought rather desperately as the professor advanced on her, for her to discover the ability to turn invisible. He bent down to look her over and demanded,

“So, you think my phrasing was off, do you?”

“Yes, sir,” she said meekly.

Arms folded, he nodded defiantly. “Then you sing it.”

She knew very well that she had not warmed up, and she was not at all the equal of a music professor. Nor did she consider the national anthem a very important artistic piece- it was originally a drinking song, after all. But he had said she was to sing it, and there simply was no way out of it. So, taking a good deep breath, she sang the Star Spangled Banner with the best phrasing she could muster.

“Who’s your professor?” the man asked when she was finished.

“She just got here, Professor Cassidy,” Amanda informed him.

“Your former teacher, then.”

“Um, nobody really taught me,” Phillipa was forced to admit.

Tapping his foot, the professor tilted his head to the side, clearly thinking. Then he took her hand and dragged her up front. Turning to her to face the assembly, he announced,

“This young lady just beat you all out of your A’s, lads and lasses.” Over the moans of the group, he explained, “She’s the only one who caught my deliberate mistake. Let this be a lesson to you: even your betters will be wrong from time to time. Your ears are for listening, and the more critical they are, the better for you. Best as well to speak up when something sounds off. Now get out of here and go prep for your extra credit. You lot are going to need it.”

Grumbling, the students left. Amanda had kept her face fairly blank, but once they were out, she started laughing. Clutching at her sides, she informed the instructor,

“You are just awful, Professor Cassidy. Their poor faces.”

“If they want to waste their parents’ money, they’ve no place doing it here under my watch. Now, don’t look like that, lass. I do that every term if I’ve a class full of ninnies. Considering the cost o’ this place, better to crush their beliefs early on. I can handle losing a few. Besides, now I’ve got a gem like you. When’s your placement audition?”

“You’ll have to fight for her,” teased Amanda, slipping an arm around Phillipa’s waist. “Everyone who’s heard her tapes is up in arms already.”

Grinning, the Irishman said, “I can take any o’ that lot. Not enough exercise taken, none of them. So, lass, what time should I be looking forward to hearing your dulcet tones again?”

“Uh. . . Monday at ten,” replied Phillipa in a bit of a daze.

“Good. Don’t be late, now.” With a wink, he followed his students out. Amanda grabbed her hands and grinned madly.

“You are so lucky! Professor Cassidy is just the best! Well, for beginners, anyway. And trust me, he’ll make you work for your grades.”

“But I might get someone else-”

Amanda waved away the possibility. “No way. He never asks for students. The Dean will fall all over himself to give him the first one he’s ever requested.”

Unable to dispute this claim, Phillipa instead asked, “Those other students won’t be mad, will they?”

“Hell no. Professor Cassidy does that, like he said, every term. Almost got me with it, too. His problem is not so much that they’re stupid and full of themselves, as it is that we all worship the ground he walks on. I could get some use out of his body, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I like her,” Lexi announced. “We’re going to be friends.”

While they walked out, Stark slipped in next to her and gently nudged her with an elbow. “Getting in good with famous people, everywhere you go.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Phillipa insisted, blushing yet again.

“See, but that’s why we like you, Mini-Phil. You are adorably genuine. I, for one, can’t wait to hear your audition on Monday. I’ve heard there are some real stiff-necks on board here, and I’d love to see their faces. What are you going to sing?”

“Whatever they put in front of her, and one piece she gets to choose for herself,” Amanda called back over her shoulder. “But it’s bad luck to say what you’ll be singing, because someone else might snag it for themselves. So keep it under your hat.”

Sighing, Phillipa submitted to being taken out to lunch one more time. She really wanted to go back to her new rooms and try to process why anyone would want her especially as a student. Supposed potential aside, everyone ought to have been able to spot that mistake. It was nothing special.

They met the SHIELD crew at the restaurant- an inoffensive diner that looked appalled rather than pleased by the invasion- minus Skye. Curious, Phillipa tried to ask Jemma, but in the massive scraping sounds brought on by the moving of tables and chairs, the question seemed to go unnoticed. Then there was the headache of ordering, and everyone talked over each other, considering that conversation. In under ten minutes Phillipa just wanted to go home, turn all the locks, put her head under a pillow and go to sleep. Where the hell had she gotten all these friends?

Mechanically, she ate her salad, picking out the croutons, tomatoes, onion slices and cheese. Lexi helpfully dealt with those, pointing out loudly that other people’s food really had zero calories. Such an inflammatory statement set off the scientists, and fairly quickly there was a heated discussion about ‘popular misconceptions.’

“Let’s get some fresh air,” Steve suggested, and took her hand before she could even protest. Once outside, however, she felt immensely relieved.

“Thank you.”

“It’s pretty stagnant in there,” he commented. “That can’t be good for someone who’s still in recovery.”

“I guess not,” Phillipa replied. She would have tried to make further stilted conversation, but then a hot breeze swept past and she stilled to listen to the sound it was making.

Since she was very young, she had always heard things on the wind. Although she was aware that she was not a mutant, she still considered it her secret talent. No one had ever noticed that sometimes she heard things before other people on windy days, but she tended to keep quiet about it. Her mother had made her feelings on the subject clear enough.

Phillipa remembered once, sitting outside under a tree, when her father had come over. He sat down beside her and asked what she was doing. It was the only time she had ever admitted that she thought the breezes were singing to her and about her. Pity that she could never recall what he had told her, when she hoped it was something sweet and accepting, but could never be certain.

“What are you listening to?” Steve asked, interrupting the memory.

“What? Oh, nothing.” Feeling herself starting to blush, Phillipa looked away.

Putting a hand on her shoulder, Steve said kindly, “You don’t have to worry about looking weird to me, you know. Look who I hang out with. When you’re ready, I hope you’ll tell me.”

Eyes on the ground, Phillipa asked, “But what if it is weird?”

With a clear grin in his voice, Steve replied, “Look at me. They don’t come much weirder, do they?”

“It’s. . . um, I mean- it could all just be in my head.” Phillipa resisted the urge to actually squirm.

Shrugging, he told her, “So what if it is?”

“Sometimes,” hesitatingly Phillipa began. “Sometimes I think I can hear the wind talking to me. Not exactly in words- um, except sometimes maybe words- um. . . I’m not making a lot of sense here.”

Patting her shoulder again, he said, “It doesn’t sound all that strange to me. Then again, I am friends with a pair of assassins, a genius billionaire, a great doctor who has real temper issues, and a guy who thinks he’s a god. Could be messing with my head a bit.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” she conceded.

Lexi popped out of the door and demanded, “Are you going to hog little Phil all day? Because I TOTALLY saw her first.”

“Lexi,” Phillipa protested, but the smaller woman was not yet finished.

“Look here, missy, we tromped all over your new digs and listened to people gush about you. Now you come in here and gush about US for a minute. I am SO neglected right now. You haven’t even mentioned my shoes yet.”

Phillipa looked down at the sneakers. “Um, they’re very plain.”

“Exactly! I am wearing boring shoes and you didn’t even notice! Hey, let’s go buy underwear later.”

“Lexi!”

“What? I’ve seen yours! Totally nothing to write home about.”

Steve bashfully slipped back indoors. Taking advantage of their solitary state, Lexi sidled over and glommed onto Phillipa. She patted her friend on the head and explained,

“I missed you! And I was super worried about you. You don’t do very well with new stuff. So I’m going to be greedy with you for a minute. But I am totally serious about underwear. You have got to get something better.”

Torn between anger, a tinge of admiration, and bewilderment, Phillipa settled for saying, “Good grief, I’ll get new underwear. You are so strange, Lexi.”

“Hooray! Girl Time!”

“I am going to regret this,” muttered Phillipa to herself as she was dragged back inside.

A few hours later, she felt much the same. First, everyone had their own ideas about where she should go. Phillipa thought she could make do with just about any store, but this was apparently taboo. Even Stark had suggestions. Finally, Phillipa had called the only person she could trust on the subject, using Jessica’s new cell phone.

“Why, Phillipa, my darling little gem! Where have you been, my turtledove? I am pining away for you!”

“Um, I missed you too, Jay. Listen, I need to buy some things of a personal nature-”

“Oho, precious Lexi talked you into buying lingerie after all. Well, my dearest, for a girl with your tastes, there are only two places to consider. Give the phone over to Domino, and we will get your little party started.”

Addresses in hand, the women set out, after officially debarring all male presences. Stark made a show of being heartbroken. For his pains, Ren very nearly broke another body part of his, something one could claim was equally dear. Steve dragged him away. Although she was probably not meant to see, Phillipa did notice Clint slip Natasha a wad of cash. She was not going to ask.

The first shop was fine, as far as it went, but nothing really caught her eye. Lexi was equally unimpressed, suggesting very loudly that some people had never heard of leather. After a bit, the group unanimously agreed to move on.

Their next location was much more interesting. While also a lingerie shop, it hosted a fine trousseau in general. The theme was Gothic, and all of the club girls recognized a few of the pieces. Some they had worn, and others were in the big closet waiting for an owner. Variety was the name of this place, with leather, lace and nearly everything in between. Phillipa almost wished she had a little more money, so that she could add a few things to her own woeful wardrobe.

Dragged into the back, she was forced to try to admire dainty underthings. It was not that Phillipa did not think that underwear should look nice, it was that looking nice seemed to be synonymous with almost no fabric. Anything that split a backside further in half than it already was, as far as she was concerned, a torture device and not sexy. Everything Lexi held up went far beyond Phillipa’s comfort level, and Jessica did not do much better.

Sighing a little, Phillipa wandered briefly while everyone else continued browsing. What had happened to leaving a few things to the imagination? Half of the fun, she had thought, was finding out what was underneath. It certainly had been the other night!

Then, in the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a hint of lace. Turning to take in the pattern, she beheld a white corset with sheer black lace overlay. It tied both up the front and the back, although the front was more for show, since it also had a modesty panel. Studying the black ruffled neckline, she wondered if it would look nice on her. Surely it would cover almost all of her breasts. As such, it probably was not the right thing. Too bad! It was such a pretty thing, and she had not found much else to admire.

“Something caught your eye?” asked the saleswoman.

Slightly guilty, Phillipa murmured, “Oh, just- the corset is pretty, but it’s not for me.”

With a piercingly critical look, the saleswoman compared her to the corset. “I don’t see why not, if you like it. Why not try it on before you pass judgment? We have some panties to match.”

“Oh, um, I don’t really like thongs.”

“Those things?” scoffed the woman. “They’re just there for the teenagers and college girls who think that showing their butt crack is the way to get a man. No, I’m talking about these. For the woman who is mature enough to know how to allure a man without rubbing herself all over him.”

While horrendously embarrassed to be talking about lingerie with a stranger, Phillipa could not help but admire her skills. She held up two pairs of underwear, one black with white trim and one white with black trim. They did match the corset, but not by being exactly the same. Better yet, they were hipsters: low-cut but with more than enough coverage to the rear.

Nodding, obviously to herself, the saleswoman added, “If you like these, I can pick out a few other items that will be more to your tastes. I noticed you brought along some friends, and that’s fine for outerwear. However, my dear, for your most intimate purchases, it’s best to leave it to the experts.”

Allowing herself to be hustled into a private changing room, Phillipa took the garments and hung them on the hooks provided. Door closed, she cautiously stripped down. Outside, Lexi was complaining about not being able to join her and Ren was snapping at her. It was almost peaceful to have a door between herself and the rest.

Very carefully, she slipped on the panties one at a time. How had the woman been able to guess her size at a glance? It was her job, Phillipa supposed. Not without a bit of shame, Phillipa checked how they fit from every angle. They looked amazing. Leaving on the white pair, she worked her way into the corset and turned back to the mirror.

With a gasp, Phillipa took in the sight of herself in the corset. She did look pretty! As she had expected, the corset covered up even the hint of her cleavage, but that did not matter. The way it hugged her curves more than defined her attributes. With the delicately matched underwear- well, she had to admit that she wanted to show Loki and see what he thought.

“Oh, I heard that little Phil!” Lexi declared from the other side of the door. “Come on, let us see!”

Nervous, she nevertheless opened the door. Everyone was there to take in the sight, much to her chagrin. Trust Lexi to have everybody gathered together to ogle someone! Sucking in air through her teeth in a reverse whistle, Natasha even said candidly,

“Definitely those.”

“Agreed,” Jessica said. “It looks devastatingly sweet on you.”

Face burning, Phillipa moved to close the door, but the saleswoman was back. She handed in an armload of underthings, including bras and two more corsets. Shooing the other girls away, she told them,

“If you’re not here to buy, you can at least let me help my only customer.”

In the end, Phillipa bought the white corset, and a black one, three new bras and enough panties to change every day of the week. Lexi picked out two leather bodices, and Jessica made a purchase on the sly. But it was Jemma who insisted Phillipa give the other clothes a second look. 

“I saw a shirt out there- I don’t know much about you, but it seemed like you, if that makes any sense,” she explained.

Coming back to the front of the store, Phillipa saw at once the one that Jemma had meant. The creamy brown with rose trimming and a white lace decal on it was very much to Phillipa’s taste. She especially loved the long sleeves and the shaped bodice. For a moment, she was dreadfully tempted. In that moment of weakness, she ended up taking it off the rack. That was pretty much it.

By the end of their trip, she had gained in addition to the lingerie: a new black skirt, a white dress- arguably the most expensive purchase- two shirts and a pair of earrings Lexi had found. Probably faux gold, they were moonstones and that fact alone sealed the deal for Phillipa. Slightly guilty, she knew she had spent a large chunk of her paycheck and her deposit.

To add to her chagrin, the money Clint had given Natasha turned out to be for Phillipa. When she protested, Natasha smiled. Patting her head as though she was a sweet little baby, the redhead explained,

“New clothes for a new start.”

“How about new bedclothes?” Lexi suggested. “The ones that Tony got you, while nice for other people, could not be any less you!”

“More shopping?” Jemma asked, incredulous.

“Girl Time always means more shopping,” insisted the smaller woman.

With a crooked smile, Natasha supported the claim. “It does indeed.”

So they hit a further two stores, a liquor store for a present for Agent May (Ward had said she liked brandy and she did not seem to want to be thanked in person) and finally, the grocery store. Having picked up a bottle of wine, the throng moved the excitement to Phillipa’s new apartment. Although small, it held the women well enough, and when the men joined them, it was not completely overrun. This was due in part to Stark’s planning skills. He established a few centers within the different rooms, and brought games. It was her house-warming party, Phillipa was informed. Having not contributed to her clothing expedition, Steve and Dr. Banner brought her gifts: a spice rack from Dr. Banner and a photo album from Steve, for her to fill up with pictures.

Fortunately, the entourage only stayed for a few hours, once the demand to see Phillipa’s acquisitions was met. Proving their worth as friends, they even cleaned up afterwards. Steve was the last to leave, making sure nothing was left behind. He hugged her goodnight and wished her a good weekend.

Left alone at last, she made her way to the shower. It was only nine, but she was more than ready for bed. Tiredly soaping up, she hoped there was nothing exciting planned for the next day. She did not know how she was going handle all the attention.


	36. A Talking To

Utterly bored, Skye leaned back in her chair. Being grounded to the bus was lamer than lame. She was even banned from the computers, which was more than mere cruelty. At this point, two days in, even trash can hoops and balancing a pencil on her nose had palled. So, with nothing else to do, she was attempting to lie back in her seat as far as she could without tipping over. Thus far, she had nearly killed herself four times- once even as far away as Lola, which would have killed her for sure if she left a mark on Coulson’s ride. This was a dangerous game to play with a chair on wheels. And it still was not interesting enough.

Over at her own console, Agent May was calmly filling out incident reports. Supposedly she was going to talk with Skye later on. Later, reflected Skye as she overcompensated and flailed to stay in the chair, was not soon enough. Agent May seemed to be ignoring her, too, which was hurtful. Also somewhat impressive.

“Ow!”

“Stop murdering yourself, Skye,” Agent Coulson said from his place next to May, without even glancing her way. “It’s an insurance liability.”

“Nice to know you care,” she grumbled, picking herself up.

If she was honest, Skye had to admit that she had been in the wrong. Whatever had happened, Phil obviously had not wanted to leave his daughter. Yelling at him about the whole thing had been childish. It was just one of those buttons she had. No one liked to be told they were wrong, and she had opened her big mouth, letting all her opinions gush forth. Story of her life, really.

Again leaning back in the chair, Skye tried to work out why Phil had stayed away from his daughter when he clearly loved and worried about her. They were in trouble, as a unit, over his “meddling.” For whatever reason, the director was furious. Ha, furious Fury. That was funny.

Maybe it was a bad divorce. Given the timing, it would have been at the peak of several waves of judiciary unfairness toward fathers. That could have taken away almost all of his parental rights, and visitation rights, too. But that did not explain why he had not jumped at the chance four years ago to help her, nor six years ago to reclaim her.

There was one other weird aspect: although they talked about him, none of Mr. Stark’s crowd mentioned the fact that Phil was totally alive. When she had asked Jemma, the bio-chemist had muttered something about level seven. Whatever that meant.

Actually, she knew what it meant: stop asking questions. No one ever told scientists to stop asking questions, Skye thought indignantly. Nor engineers, nor health inspectors- just activists who were trying to get at the truth.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Startled, Skye jumped- never a good thing when tilting a chair backwards. The wheels, as they had before, slipped. As the seat shot out from beneath her, Skye rolled to the left and slammed her head into the desk in front of her.

“What did I tell you?” Agent Coulson scolded, this time coming over from May’s console. 

“He startled me!” Skye said, clutching at her temple and pointing in the general direction of Agent Ward. He was almost as bad as Phil for sneaking up on people.

With a knowing look, Agent Coulson directed, “Get the First Aid kit. Skye is bringing up our premiums.”

“You could be a little more sympathetic,” Skye pouted, and then winced as he lifted her hand to inspect the damage.

“I did warn you,” he reminded her.

“I was bored. You could at least give me some tedious paperwork or make me write ‘I will not sass my boss’ a hundred times. Some people think it’s better to whip somebody once, you know.”

Taking the box from Agent Ward, her boss raised both of his eyebrows. “I thought you suggested the other day that whipping was not exactly a punishment.”

“Figure of speech,” scolded Skye and then hissed as he applied antiseptic. “Am I bleeding?”

Inspecting Phil’s handiwork, Ward said, “Like fresh meat.”

“That’s disgusting. I look way cuter than the stuff you get at the butcher’s.”

“She dresses better than fresh meat, too,” added Phil helpfully. He swabbed her temple one more time and then applied a bandage.

“No comment,” Agent Ward said smugly. Glowering at first, Skye then stuck her tongue out at him. Sometimes he could be a real jerk.

“All right, trouble, come into my office.” Coulson helped her up.

“Why?”

“As per your request, I have some tedious paperwork.”

Groaning, Skye trailed after him. “Me and my big mouth.”

Agent Coulson presented her with what turned out to be a stack of requisitions forms. She was to fill out their unit name, home base address, phone number and code, stamp them and check the prescribed boxes. Given that there were about forty sheets that were all to be filled in by hand, and a similarly sized pile in Agent Coulson’s outbox, she suspected that he did not do this every day, but saved it up. There were a hell of a lot of things to request: pencils, paper, toner and other office supplies, as well as bullets, computer components and lubricating oil. Barely, she avoided snickering as she checked that box.

“Do they ever say no?” Skye asked as she filled out a request for 800 screws.

“Once in a while,” Phil told her, skimming reports. He knew how to hold the folder at exactly the right angle so that she could see absolutely nothing.

Eyes woefully back on her own paperwork, Skye tried to guess what all of it was for. The bullets were easy: Ward and May had used up more than a few during the raid. Then there were mysterious parts that sounded much more exciting than they probably were, for Jemma and Leo. Everyone did a lot of stapling, printing and copying, and pens went missing like nobody’s business. It was trying to figure out who was using all the paperclips that was tricky.

“Now then, Skye,” Agent Coulson said as she filled in the last request for 20 reams of paper, “Are you punished enough?”

“That’s up to you, sir. Isn’t it?”

“Usually, Skye. But I think you like being punished.”

“No, I don’t-” Skye began to argue, but he held up a hand. Grudgingly, she subsided.

“Hear me out for a moment. You have always been a sucker for the dramatic- and don’t argue the point, we both know it’s true. So when anything happens, you tend to give it a little more time and weight than it deserves. Case in point: You’re still mad that Agent Ward got a pat on the back and you didn’t.”

Jaw dropping, Skye demanded, “How did you know that?”

“You’re mad at him, but he hasn’t done anything to deserve it today. Therefore, you’re mad about something else. What else have you got to be mad about?”

Folding her arms, she said with a bit of a sulk, “You never pat me on the back.”

With one of his mild smiles, Phil informed her, “You have yet to overcome a major failing, like your choice of footwear. Those are not appropriate to the job.”

“I broke Anthony Redding’s ankle with these and I hardly felt it,” objected Skye, glancing down at her much-loved leather with steel toe boots.

“What was he doing to earn that?”

“He tried to cop a feel. So I busted his ankle. And his nose.”

He eyed her for a moment, clearly deciding whether or not this was possible. “Then they pass. But that’s the only pair thus far.”

Shrugging, Skye suggested, “I could wear these all the time.”

“No one else needs a broken ankle, Skye.”

“They might!”

“Not today, Skye,” said Phil firmly. “And here we are again: you’re making too much fuss for the context of the disagreement. You’re a fighter, and I understand that. However, you also are a wallower, and nobody likes it.”

“I am not!”

“Tell me you don’t still feel guilty about Phillipa, then.”

As much as she would have liked to say she was totally over that, Skye knew the truth was otherwise. It was part of the reason she had gone to see her on Friday morning, and a large dose of the motivation behind her later fuss at Agent Coulson. Oh, he was good.

“The way I see it, Skye, you have two choices: you can keep on wallowing, and I can keep on punishing you. I may have to put you in a padded room so you don’t break anything, but otherwise it’s no problem. If that’s what you want.

“Your other option is to apologize, get over your hang-ups and move on. Of the two, it seems like the more difficult for you, but I have pretty high hopes that I won’t have to come in tomorrow and cover you in bubble wrap to keep you safe. Like I said, though, this is your decision.”

Barely, Skye resisted the urge to pout. He was making fairly harsh fun of her. Of course, he was right, which was no picnic at all.

Holding in her sigh, Skye admitted, “I was wrong, sir. It’s not my place to question what you did or why. But. . . sir, Phillipa doesn’t have a voice here. She can’t tell us- and especially she can’t tell you- how she feels about what we’re doing. I don’t think it’s fair to judge her by just what we think is right.”

Nodding, Phil replied, “And if you had put it that way in the first place, Skye, we would never have argued. She’s my daughter, Skye. I’m going to worry about her choices. If she really is happy, then it will all work out. But I’ve been around too long to think everything is that simple. I hope you’ve been around long enough to understand that.”

It was Skye’s turn to nod. “Yes, I do. I just. . . it’s not often people get to be genuinely happy. I don’t want to take that away from her just because I’m worried.”

“Nor do I. But I expect you to keep a sharp eye on her and find out that boy’s name. The sooner we can look into him the better. We may have to break her heart, but at least she’ll be alive afterwards. A lot of people wouldn’t give her that. Now get out of here and let Agent May scold you about questioning your superiors.”

“Yes, sir. And sir? Thank you.”

“Go on!” he ordered, but he was smiling.

Dismissed, and with Agent May still busily ignoring her, Skye decided to pester Agent Ward. She had heard rumors that there had been a party and she had missed it. Since that was completely unfair, she felt the need to vent her displeasure on someone who had been all together too smug earlier.

Snapping at him rarely worked, but Skye knew very well what did. So far, he was still really bad at girls. She unbuttoned two of her fasteners on her blouse and sat down on the edge of his desk. He looked up at her, cleared his throat and shifted his legs away from her. Jackpot!

“What do you want?” he asked, trying to sound commanding and failing miserably.

“Just to say that I forgive you for scaring me,” she told him, leaning forward so that her brown hair swept over his hand lightly. He twitched, visibly. There were, she considered as she gave him a bright smile, some serious compensations at this job.


	37. Found a Reason

Phillipa was spending her weekend in relative quiet. Loki had been by her side, but they had mostly been cuddling and reading together. He only allowed her to go out to practice with Amanda, Nelly and their friend Janet. She did have to be ready for Monday morning. Insistently possessive, Loki was quite jealous of the initial idea that a boy named Justin join the girls. Of course, he had nothing in particular in mind for the weekend, beyond the aforementioned cuddles and books. 

Not that she minded his gentle attentions. The way he would run his hand along the curve of her body in an almost absent-minded fashion, and then grin mischievously to let her know that he was well aware of the goosebumps it raised on her skin; his lips brushing her cheek fondly before he moved even an inch from her side; the soft velvet of his voice as he whispered his adoration as she dozed lightly- all of it tinged her skin pink with the memory. His nearness was preferable to the mob any old day. Still, she wanted there to be something special to carry her through to Monday morning, when she was utterly doomed. 

At last he took a brief break to check on something at home, and now she was trying to decide whether or not she was bold enough to try changing his mind about underwear. On the one hand, it could auger well for future encounters. After all, she would like to have something to tempt him with, and therefore be more equal in their romantic life. However, she was not sure he really would like her new corset and the uncertainty was killing her. Figuratively speaking. 

This left her in the bathroom, trying to get a decent angle on her rear in the one mirror big enough. Was this slimming or not? Should she have looked for a green corset? Was he even going to look back there? When did her butt get that big? It seemed huge. Not that he would notice. Usually he could not wait to get her nude. Maybe this was a stupid idea. 

Sighing, she opened the bathroom door and almost walked right into him. God, he was so bleeping quiet! And now here she was in nothing but a corset and underpants. Damn! 

As she had suspected and hoped he would, he swept his eyes over the display. “What is this?” 

“Um. It’s a corset. I bought it the other day- I mean, Friday. When we all went shopping, er, not all all- just the girls. I thought- um, I was just going to change.” 

In all her babbling, Phillipa managed not to burst out with the query of whether or not he liked it. Of course he would not. He had something against underwear, particularly on her. Corsets would not be his thing, at all. What had she been thinking? 

Before she could ease her way past him, he caught hold of her wrist. “You own this item?” 

“Um, yes. I mean, I can take it back if-” But he clearly was not listening. Backing her into the bathroom once more, he prodded the middle of the front, underneath the laces. 

“What is this?” 

“It’s a modesty panel. In case- well, if I wore it out and it comes unlaced in the front, that would be embarrassing, right?” 

“And what purpose does the lace serve then?” he wanted to know. 

“Uh. . . I don’t know?” 

Still staring hard, Loki reached out and grabbed the end of the lace. Slowly and with clear malice aforethought, he undid the knot. Slightly frightened by the intense concentration he displayed, Phillipa merely stood there as he calmly and methodically removed the lacing. 

“Obviously,” he breathed in her ear as he pressed her back against the bathroom wall, “It requires a new purpose. And I have one, specially. . . tailored to such a naughty woman, one who would tempt a man with such an unseemly display of her body.” 

Swiftly, he brought her hands above her head. Using the lace, he tied her wrists together. The hook near the ceiling, which served no known function, now had a purpose. He attached the lace to it, drawing Phillipa nearly up on her toes. 

“Loki,” she began to protest, but he was quick to slap her rear. 

“Here and now, I am your master. Do you understand?” With his strong grip, he cupped her chin, tilting it up so that she was looking at him. “I said, do you understand me?” 

“Yes.” She yelped when he spanked her ass again, much harder. “I mean: yes, master.” 

“That is better. A dirty girl like you needs a firm hand, is that not so?” 

Weakly, Phillipa agreed. “Yes, master.” 

“And you have been craving this, have you not?” 

“Yes, master.” Maybe not exactly this, but close enough. 

He walked around her slowly, taking in all of her body. Occasionally, he would very lightly stroke some part of her flesh. The position she was in was slightly painful on her arms and shoulders, but she was fairly certain he would not leave her there for long. 

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked when he had completed his circuit. “You have been very obscene, purchasing such clothing in the hopes of tempting a man to your bed. What other dirty things have you done? Have you kissed a man?” 

“Yes, master,” she admitted, hoping it would end soon and trying to ignore the part of her that was very, very into this. 

“Show me,” he instructed, bringing his face just close enough that she might do so. Hesitantly, she pushed herself up all the way on her toes and kissed him. It was not the first time she had initiated the kiss, but it was almost more arousing now. Pressing her lips to his, in the hopes of enticing him- it was a very sexy reversal of roles. As he usually did, she opened her mouth to slide her tongue against his. 

“With tongue?” he pondered, pushing himself away from her after a long minute. “What a slutty way to draw in a man! You are indeed deserving of punishment. But, tell me, have you let a man touch you indecently?” 

“Yes, master,” panted Phillipa, decidedly enjoying this new game. 

Stepping behind her, Loki asked, “And where has he touched you?” 

“Nearly everywhere, master,” she answered truthfully. 

“Here?” he questioned, resting his hand on her neck. 

“Yes, master.” 

“Here as well?” he wanted to know, with his other hand on her waist. 

“Yes, master. He touches me in dirty places, too, master.” 

Bringing his body in close enough for her to feel his body heat, but not his actual touch, Loki murmured, “And do you like it when he puts his hands in those naughty places?” 

“Oh yes, master. It feels so good.” 

“Little slut,” he said, taking his hands away. She squirmed, trying to recapture the feel of him. But she was incapable of reaching him, strung up as she was. He let her writhe in desire without comment or reproof. Even when she stuck out her ass, he did not give it a firm smack. It would have been something. 

“Please, master, I want to be your slut,” she finally admitted, when the longing became too strong for her to hold on anymore. 

“My slut?” he quoted, coming again to the front to look at her. “And what would you do for me?” 

Even though dirty talk was not her strong suit, Phillipa was determined to try. Whatever it took to get him to touch her. “Anything you desire, master.” 

“And if I desire this?” Loki asked, putting his left hand between her legs and rubbing against her underwear. 

“Anything,” she promised. “Anything for you, master.” 

“Even here?” he queried, reaching farther back and, much to her shock, putting a finger against her asshole. 

Uncertain, Phillipa looked away. “I-” 

“So, you are not a complete slut, after all,” was his only remark. “Then my duty is clear: I must train you better.” 

Still, he did not let her down. Instead, he walked once again behind her, and ran his hand along her sides. Teasingly, he moved as though to cup her breasts, but pulled away at the last moment. She shuddered in need, surprised by her wish to honestly give him anything. Including her ass, should he want it. 

“Look how you ache for the touch of a man,” Loki noted scornfully. “You would take any man now. But I am your master, and it is I who will touch you. No other. Do you understand me?” 

“Yes, master. Please touch me, master,” she begged. 

“Someone has been too indulgent with you, allowing you to speak out of turn.” He grasped a hank of her hair and pulled her head back to expose her neck so that he could bite her. “Stick out your pretty ass for me. It is time you learned how to behave.” 

As best she could, partially up on her toes, she did as instructed. Immediately, he treated her to a real whack across her butt cheeks. This was followed, before she could truly process the first, by more. Although he had claimed previously that she enjoyed spankings, it was not until now that she knew how much. It felt fantastic, even though it did sting and ache. The tingles were definite contenders for her approval, as they went on well after he had finished applying his hand. 

Under his less than tender ministrations, her backside began to warm. While he continued trading off between each side, she started to squirm. It felt so good and so wrong and she never wanted him to stop. To keep her still, he wrapped one arm around her and stood at her side, trapping her between his leg and his persistent beating. 

“Enjoying yourself?” he purred, taking a break between whacks. She could only whimper and arch her back in reply. Why had he stopped? 

“You are a filthy thing, indeed. Tell me you have been bad.” 

“I have been very bad, master.” 

Loki delivered another firm blow to her ass. “How have you been bad?” 

“Oh! I- I let a man touch me, master. I let him kiss me and tease me and make me orgasm, master. And. . . and I liked it, master. I want to do it again.” 

“Do you? You little slut, you want him to caress you?” 

“Yes, master. Ah!” Her answer had earned her a hearty slap. 

“You want him to kiss and suck at your naughtiest parts?” 

“Yes, master!” Again, she received another blow for her response. 

“You want him to fuck you?” 

Whereas before she would have been abashed, Phillipa was well past caring. “Yes, master! I want him inside of me!” 

His hand must have been practically a blur, the way he was spanking her so ferociously. She relished every heavy strike, reveling in the warm shape of his hands left behind. All too soon, however, he had finished. He stepped away from her again, breathing hard. This game was obviously to his liking as well. 

“You are a very bad woman. I can see this will not be enough. Perhaps I should take the strap to you. Would you enjoy that? Or perhaps,” and here his hand trailed down her stomach, “You would like to reward your master for training you today.” 

“Please, master, let me pleasure you. I have been such a naughty girl, but you are teaching me to do better.” It amazed Phillipa, the things she was capable of saying at this point. 

He brought his finger up to her lips, tracing their shape. “Would you do anything for me?” 

“Yes, master. I will do anything for you.” 

“Even this?” he asked, putting his other hand down over her ass, reaching for her asshole. 

There was no hesitation this time. “Yes, master.” 

“My pretty little slut,” he murmured. “You would give your master anything he desired. But you have covered the part I like best.” 

Loki leaned down and kissed the corset, over her left breast. He grabbed her ass, kneading her warmed cheeks roughly. As she gasped and thrust her chest even more forward, he planted a string of tiny kisses up her neck. He nipped at her earlobe and grabbed a handful of hair. He yanked her head back sharply before asking breathily, 

“Why would you cover your heart from me?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Phillipa gasped out. “I didn’t know, master.” 

“I shall forgive it this once,” he said, with the promise of harsh punishments to follow in his every word, “But you must never dress this way again. Until I ask for it, of course. A slut you may be, but you belong to me and I will have your very heart exposed to me always.” 

So saying, he undid the hooks of the corset and let it slip from her body. He laid his head back where his lips had been, moments before. There was something very peaceful about the pose, but he was already moving on to kissing her breast. 

Helpless, Phillipa remained up on her toes and let him suck, lick, and even bite to his heart’s content. It did not hurt that his fingers had moved between her legs, rubbing insistently. When she realized that she might experience release, however, she felt the need to speak up. 

“Master, oh please master, can I-” 

“Naughty girl, trying to cum on your own,” Loki scolded. He removed his fingers, to her intense dismay. Moaning, she tried to keep some contact with him, but he was clearly punishing her. How was she supposed to help it? 

“A dirty little thing like you needs more discipline,” he announced after a moment. She thought he would spank her again, but he left the room. He actually left the damn room! 

As she hung there, Phillipa had a good five minutes to consider the implications of her actions. She spent them, instead, writhing in frustration. Just when things had been getting good, he left! What now? And why the hell was she so aroused, even though he was not here? 

When he returned, he moved as quickly as he had when he had first hung her from the hook. He pulled off her panties, not an easy job because they were nearly dripping, and then slid what she at first presumed was his finger inside of her. But he stood up to release her from the hook, using both hands. What, then, remained inside of her? She had no time to ask, because he was rebinding her arms behind her and pushing her down on her knees. 

“It is very important, my little slut, to learn to concentrate on the task at hand. Your task is to pleasure me.” 

That did not sound so difficult. Indeed, he removed his clothes for her, tossing aside his leather ensemble with his usual casual flair. And she did love the way he watched her so lustily, clearly more than ready to do anything to achieve his own release. He rubbed his penis over her lips, not yet putting it in her mouth, nor giving her permission to lick him. Aching with need, she still forced herself to wait. 

“Now, suck me, you filthy woman.” 

She opened her mouth eagerly, ready to lick and suck until he came all over her face. For a while, this seemed what was going to happen, as she kissed and flicked her tongue wherever he directed. He used both his hands and his voice to command her. She obediently sucked his balls, licked along the side of his penis and rubbed her tongue just underneath the tip of his penis. When she thought it was time to take him fully into her mouth, however, he pushed her back. 

“Very good. As I expected of a slut of your caliber. Let us test your abilities. Spread your legs.” 

He knelt down and reached between her thighs. For a moment, she believed he was teasing her again. Then she realized what he had slipped inside of her earlier was the vibrator. He was not teasing her at all- he had turned it on! Gasping in surprise, horror and pleasure, she looked at Loki. 

“Keep it inside you,” he ordered simply. Then he stood up again. With one hand, he stroked his penis, while using the other to bring her face back into position. Obviously, he meant for her to continue. 

She was certain she was clumsier than before. The sensations between her legs were making it much too hard to be as precise as before. But she was definitely hotter. How did he always know how to get her going? It was hardly fair, she thought as she sucked the head of his cock into her mouth. She had to get him back somehow. Later, insisted her vagina. The here and now was much more important. Vengeance could wait until after she had orgasmed. 

As the vibrator worked some modern magic, Phillipa did her best to make certain Loki was getting his in as well. She bobbed over his cock to the very best of her current abilities. From his gasps and epithets, she knew she was doing well. Swirling her tongue around, and then rubbing the most sensitive part, Phillipa worked hard to get him to fill her mouth with semen again. It was not that the taste was good, but the intimacy of knowing she had his very seed inside her was so damn sexy. 

Just when she knew she was going to be orgasming much too early, Loki shoved her down on her back. It was not exactly comfortable to be lying on her arms, but she was prepared to allow anything in the name of one good orgasm. The very moment he put his mouth over her clitoris, she actually screamed. Her shame mingled with pleasure and she was completely lost for several long seconds. 

By the time she came to, he had lifted her up and was untying her arms. Limp and now with those horrible tingles that accompanied limbs that had been out of commission too long, Phillipa almost left it at that. But the vibrator was still going and she would be damned if she was not going to have an answer for that. This thought in mind, she leaned forward and kissed him as hard as she could. 

“That’s for tying me up,” she panted. He looked at her with admiration and disbelief. Then she grabbed his penis firmly. Seeing that she had his full attention, she stroked it boldly. 

“Fuck me,” she insisted. “I want you. Now.” 

Shaking his head, Loki placed gentle hands on her shoulders. “No. It will hurt too much.” 

“You put the vibrator in me!” 

“Ah, as to that.” He grasped the base of the vibrator and slowly pulled it out, bringing a yelp to her lips. “Perhaps a comparison is in order?” 

Seeing it next to his penis, she had to admit he was definitely the larger, in both length and girth. All the same, why not? He was so hard and hot under her fingers. She desperately wanted him, without knowing exactly why. 

“Please,” she begged softly. Gently, he took her into his arms, drawing her on top of him. 

“Not yet, my own. But I have another way for you to pleasure me, my naughty one. Rub yourself against my cock.” 

Confused, but nevertheless willing, she did her best. “Like this?” 

He helped her angle herself so that her nether lips encased his penis. She was still so wet, he slid easily between them. At each gliding thrust, she could feel the head poking against her clitoris. Breathing rapidly, she fought to keep herself from bucking too hard. Loki was not much better off, although he retained the presence of mind to squeeze and pull on her nipples. 

“Oh- oh yes, Loki. It feels so good.” She bent over to kiss his lips, intent on sharing her pleasure. She loved him so much. 

“Yes, ride that cock,” he ordered, giving her tender backside a slap. Arching her back, she gave in to his demands, working her hips to please him. 

It took only a few more thrusts before he was ready to shoot. With a very naughty grin, he pushed her to the floor. She had no time to consider why he had picked up the vibrator again before he put it alongside her clitoris. Kneeling over her from the side, he rubbed the toy around her sensitive spot while slowly stroking himself. As she had done the first time they had been together, she reached up to help. 

“Yes! Ah, yes!” Loki spurted, his semen landing on her belly in hot strands. 

Assisted by the vibrator, Phillipa was also in the throes of orgasm. This time she avoided a scream by biting down on her lower lip. As per usual, Loki was instantly intent on pressing himself close to her. She had absolutely no complaint about kissing and mingling tongues. When he nipped at her lip, though, she winced. 

“Ouch. I think I bruised myself,” she complained, dabbing at it. 

“A little too into your release?” suggested Loki teasingly. She gave him a glare, but it dissolved under his tender nuzzling at her cheek. 

“Bite me?” she offered, exposing more of her neck for him. 

Smirking, he kissed her nose before moving down to her shoulders. His bite was more than a mere nip at the skin. She could definitely feel his teeth sink into her flesh. Head tossed back, Phillipa hissed at the pain mixed with the pleasant knowledge that he had left his mark on her once again. 

“You do love that,” he murmured, kissing his way back up to her face. 

“I want to feel you with me,” she tried to explain. 

“I am always with you, my own.” 

Forehead to forehead, she asked, “Will you be there tomorrow?” 

He pulled away. “No.” 

“But-” 

Waving a hand dismissively, he told her, “It is hardly important.” 

“It’s important to me,” she objected, sitting up and wincing again. “Please, Loki.” 

“You will merely be assigned a teacher. That is nothing of note.” 

“Maybe you’re sure, but I’m not! I’m not talented and I don’t know why everyone thinks I have anything special to give all of the sudden. If I was, wouldn’t someone have noticed already?” 

“Perhaps they already did,” was his cryptic comment. “You will have a teacher and that is all. There is no reason for me to attend.” 

“Are you ashamed of me?” Phillipa had not meant to ask, but it was something she kept wondering. 

“Ashamed? Woman, do not be ridiculous!” 

“You never say my name, you don’t want to come with me to see any of my friends- I had to drag you over to see Dr. Horrible- and you won’t even go anywhere with me! That’s not what love is like!” 

“And how would you know?” Loki shot back. Hurt, Phillipa stood up. 

“I’m going to bed. You can do whatever you like, without me!” 

She made it only three steps before he grabbed her by her waist. Turning to tell him off, she was silenced by his hand over her mouth. Startled, she tried to shake him off, but he held her too tightly. 

“You will listen to me,” he hissed, incensed. “I have no wish to meet those imbeciles who call themselves your friends because they are beneath me. I have no need to attend your every function because that too is beneath me. These useless wishes of yours will bring us no closer to one another. Why do you wish me to tire of you? It is not necessary that I spend every waking hour by your side. Did I not promise not to let you go? Is that not enough for you?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Phillipa said when he uncovered her mouth. “But I want you to be there for things that are important to me, because I would be there for you! And I’ll meet your stupid friends, too, because they are your friends. I want to know the people who love you almost as much as I do. I want to support you in everything, no matter what I think about it.” 

Expression unreadable, Loki watched her closely. “And this is what you wish from me?” 

“Yes!” Phillipa added, “And please don’t grab me like that. It scared me.” 

He was still eyeing her as he said, “You would do those things for me, without saying?” 

“Of course I would. I love you, damn it!” 

Eyebrows up, he pulled her closer still. “So much that you would be hurt and not say it until I pushed you too far? How will that help us?” 

Guiltily, Phillipa admitted in a small voice, “It won’t. I just- I don’t want you to go. And if I make you angry-” 

“What did I promise you?” he chided. “I will never leave you. Yes, there have been fools in the past who did not know your true worth, but I am not among them, my own. I apologize for being rough and argumentative. You deserve better. Especially as I now have a finer appreciation of the purpose of your undergarments. Now come here, you beautiful little fool. We are both sweaty.” 

“I’m not a fool,” Phillipa grumbled. Chuckling, Loki pulled her into the shower. As he doused her with warm spray, he placed a tender kiss on her lips. 

“We are all of us fools in love,” he said softly. “None more so than I.” 


	38. Songbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nemo - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hr9d5bdxwYU  
> Amhran (Song of Winds) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNvCxzJI8zY

Finally released from office detail, Skye was a serious menace, as far as Leo was concerned. She had been walking around in a cloud since six that morning, very pleased with herself. Agent Ward had given her very wide berth, which was unusually wise of him. Leo could only hope that the pair of them would behave for Phillipa’s audition. Generally they had a serious love-hate practically sibling-level relationship, with Skye frequently coming off the better in spite of Ward’s position as her sponsor. 

Phillipa was already in the auditorium when they arrived en masse. Clearly nervous, she was also much better dressed than Leo was used to- outside of work at least. Her new shirt was two pieces: a black leather bodice and a pale green blouse underneath with bronze embroidered flowers. Undeniably Gothic, her black skirt was embroidered with heavy thread in- Leo squinted- the very same blossoms as were on her blouse. It clung just enough to define the curves of her hips before falling gracefully to sweep the floor. Even her hair had been swept up into a golden hairclip with white stones. 

“Staring, much?” Skye accused. “Did you note her earrings and count the toggles on her bodice?” 

“I was getting to it,” he said cheerfully. “I wonder who helped her with her hair. The girls said she’s useless at it. Also, those are clasps, not toggles.” 

Score one for me, he thought as Skye gave him the finger on the sly. Never mind how nosy she was all the time, the girl did not like anyone else prying. Aside from being hypocritical, it was just plain unhelpful. It stood to reason that if one needed various tools for various jobs, the same went for people. 

There were four other candidates at this audition/placement test. None of them had the same routine, which was presumably to keep the students on their toes. As far as Leo knew- and he did know a fair amount about harmonics- they were all well enough. But there was something about Phillipa. He rather hoped that she would knock the judges’ socks off, particularly that sullen one on the end, who sniffed offensively at everyone. 

“I would be last,” Leo overheard Phillipa mutter to Domino. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

“That’s bad for the voice,” Amanda leaned in to whisper. “Just hang tough. You’re almost up. Only Justin has a chance of being as good as you, trust me.” 

“And you would know this because. . ?” queried Stark. 

“Eight years of studying voice doesn’t leave you unable to recognize talent in others. That’s what being a billionaire does.” 

Stifling a snigger, Leo turned away from the inventor. That girl was pretty good at hitting below the belt. Not nearly as good, though, as Jemma when she had a mind to. He glanced at his partner, but she was checking her camera in annoyance. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Oh, this blasted thing. I swear it has a video function on it. I’ve used it before and now I can’t bloody well find it.” 

Skye held out her hand. “Got you covered. Trust me, no technology has bested me yet.” 

Jemma surrendered the camera, passing it in front of Leo. Like always, he enjoyed the brief contact. She was a great friend and he was not risking that for anything. Still, he did think of other ways they could go, now and then. 

“Phillipa Coulson,” called the Dean. Taking one last squeeze from Domino, she drifted forward. Under the lights, she looked like a ghost. Poor kid. 

They put her through her paces. Like the others, she had to wind her way through a random selection of song snippets. They questioned her about tempo, scales, measures, time signatures, note values and a whole slew of things Leo had always felt comfortable being wholly ignorant of. Someone brought up the fact that she played piano and made her play a series of chord progressions- A major and A minor and so on. If this was what it took to be a musician, count Leo out. Engineering was so much more sensible, and applicable. 

Then they put forth the piece she was to sight-sing. As Leo understood it, that meant she was not to practice it at all before she sang it. Like a cold read for actors, he thought. 

“Um,” she began, speaking up for the first time. 

That brought the wrath of the judge on the end. “If you cannot do that, young lady, you might as well give up now. Obviously you’ve been learning by ear, but that won’t last in the real world of music.” 

“I can sing it, but-” 

Slapping his palm on the table, the judge commanded, “Then do it!” 

Surrendering, Phillipa burst into song. As soon as she started, Leo heard Domino choke. Turning, he saw the girls from Dark of the Moon nearly in tears. They were laughing silently, but hard. 

“Oh, no,” moaned Domino in a whisper. “Who would have guessed?” 

“It’s too rich,” Ren agreed. Never one to express a lot of emotion, she showed more clearly than the rest that something was seriously off here. 

Once she was finished with her piece, Phillipa hastened to explain, “But I’ve sung it before, you see. It’s hardly fair.” 

Lexi was practically prostrate. “Nemo! Of all things!” 

“Okay, what’s the joke?” Ward demanded as the judges huddled to discuss the problem. 

“Nemo is the song that landed Phillipa her position as a cocktail girl,” Ren explained. “She was humming it, and we were a girl short-” 

Domino took over as a burst of giggles overtook Ren. “So Jay pushed her up on stage and told her to just sing that. She was terrified. I thought people were going to throw things. And then she started to sing.” 

“And everyone fell in love,” Lexi agreed with an overly dramatic sigh. “Of course, I was already madly attached to her.” 

“Mad is right,” Ren agreed with a return to her more stoic nature. 

“Given the quality of both the piece and the performance,” said the fair-haired professor from the other day, “We have voted to allow it to stand. If you would just give us the name of your chosen piece before beginning, we can finish the evaluations.” 

“Look at that sourpuss on the end,” Jemma whispered. “I bet he was the hold-out.” 

“Aye, no chance of anything else.” 

Firming up her spine, Phillipa stepped forward and said, “I’m going to sing Amhran (Song of Winds) by Leaves’ Eyes.” 

This explained why Amanda had been lingering by the stage with a harp case and why two other girls also had stringed instruments out. They must have agreed to assist, for some price. Where had Phillipa gotten the music- no, that was a silly question. The internet was where anything could be found. The more important question was how well these girls could deal with the piece. 

None of the girls had any trouble. In spite of the fact that it was clearly not in English, Phillipa handled everything as gracefully as if it were her native tongue. Perhaps they had been practicing all weekend. The song itself was under three minutes in length, but what Leo heard surprised him. Phillipa was the only person singing in the room, but he could swear someone was harmonizing with her. Someone had to analyze the video Skye was taking. 

After a long moment of silence, the Dean stood. “That will do, Miss Coulson. Thank you. Thank you all for your time. You will have your assignments by the end of the day. Misses Lane, Carringer, and Fitzhugh, you will hear from your professors regarding your ‘A’ options individually.” 

The older students nearly dragged everyone out. Amanda explained as she pushed Stark out of the doors, “They’ve got to deliberate and they won’t do it in front of you. Or us, either.” 

The other candidates mostly headed out, but one boy lingered. He gave Phillipa a huge grin. For a college student, he was amazingly clean-cut. Leo almost suspected him of ironing his baby blue polo shirt. 

“That was something else up there. Now I wish I’d be bold enough to try some Nightwish myself. Like Taikatalvi, or Reach- the demo, you know.” 

“Oh. Um, yes, I do.” 

“I love your shirt, by the way,” he added. “It suits your eyes.” 

“All right, Justin. Now tell the poor girls your orientation before you break any hearts,” Amanda ordered sunnily. 

Pointing to a tiny rainbow pin on his collar, Justin explained, “Not straight, I’m afraid. Well, not afraid for my sake, but for any of you who might have been swooning over my excellent hair.” 

While the ladies had a good chuckle, Leo noticed something odd. Normally Phillipa was a little uncomfortable in the presence of men, notably strange men. Now she was not even paying more than cursory attention to Justin. She was also rubbing at her wrist- were those ligature marks? Had she had those Thursday afternoon? 

Falling back slightly, Leo nudged Ward. He gestured to his wrist and pointed at Phillipa. In answer to his silent question, Agent Ward frowned and shook his head slightly. So they were new! But where had she acquired them? 

Stark insisted on brunch, as he usually felt any and every occasion needed to be marked with food. Justin and the other music students declined. Like sane people, they had other things to do. Romanoff and Barton were also about to excuse themselves when Phillipa said, 

“Um, I have something to tell everyone. While you’re all here I mean.” She took a deep breath and told them, “I have a boyfriend.” 

“You what?” chorused Lexi, Domino and Stark. No one else looked very surprised, although for some of them that expression might be impossible. 

“I have a boyfriend,” Phillipa repeated. “And I like him a lot- well, I mean, I love him, of course. Um. He doesn’t want to meet you all just yet, and not all at once, because he doesn’t do well with lots of people. But he said if I wanted to, I could tell you about him, and he was kind of surprised I hadn’t yet.” 

“And he’s the one leaving all these marks on you?” Stark questioned, pointing to her neck and a bruise that was only partially obscured by her neckline. 

Her hand shot up, but instead of covering it as Leo would have expected, she only touched it with her fingertips before a slow grin spread over her face. “Yep.” 

Such a brazen acknowledgement seemed to throw the inventor. It was like being in a Love Hina episode. “What- but- you-” 

Grin turning mischievous, she clarified, “Bad girls have to be punished, you see.” 

The look on Stark’s face was beyond priceless. Skye snapped a picture on her phone and told Lexi it was a keeper. What interested Leo briefly was the fact that Steve Rogers was clearly not following the conversation in the slightest. Probably for the best, all things considered. Agent Ward was, and he looked horrified. 

“You mean you let him tie you up and hit you?” 

For a moment, it seemed as if Phillipa would hide her hands behind her back, but then she relaxed. “Yes, I do.” 

“But why?” Stark finally burst out. 

“I trust him,” she said firmly. Then the dreamily satisfied look was back again. “And it does feel nice. He’s good at it, you see.” 

“I totally did not want to know that, although it is strangely reassuring. No, hey, wait a minute! What is this boy’s name?” 

“You can call him Walter,” said Phillipa after a moment. 

“That isn’t his real name, is it?” demanded Agent Ward. 

“Of course it isn’t. He doesn’t need all of you showing up on his doorstep after having discovered everything about his private life. I like him, remember? But I’ll be sure to tell you the full name of anyone who steals my tea.” 

“Your tea stash is not as important as your virginity,” Stark insisted. 

“Good grief, I’m still a virgin- not that it matters, you patriarchical idiot!” she snapped. 

“Wait, how does that work?” Lexi wanted to know. “You mean you totally haven’t fu-” 

Domino interrupted, “Language. And, sheesh, have I not said before you’re all to stay out of Phillipa’s personal business? Thank you for telling us, Phillipa. I’m glad you wanted us to know.” 

“We’re really going to leave it at that?” Ren asked. “Not to agree with that patriarchy, but this isn’t exactly standard dating behavior.” 

“Ha! She agreed with me- ow!” Not even turning her head, Ren had slugged Stark in the biceps. “Love hurts.” 

Shrugging, Domino pointed out, “Love doesn’t exactly have a pattern.” 

“That’s true. Dating is a cultural construct, dependent upon the permissivity of said culture.” 

Stark goggled at Skye, incredulous. “Did that make sense?” 

But Banner was already nodding his head. “Skye’s correct. What you perceive as normal has always been dependent on your cultural upbringing first, and experience second.” 

“Hence why tribal societies are more likely to accept the standards of missionaries,” Lexi added. “I read your paper.” 

“Okay, culturally speaking: you’re all weird. That pretty much says it all for me. Let’s go eat something, since I can have whatever I want.” Stark mimed vomiting. “It’s all coming back later, anyway.” 

“Don’t be such a wimp,” Barton told him. 

“Do you even know what I’m picturing? I’d tell you, but it disturbs me.” 

The group moved out, Stark attempting to tell Barton without telling him what exactly was giving him nightmares. Since it involved his boss, Leo did his best not to listen. He had to work with Agent Coulson- being able to meet his eyes was an important component of the job. 

Lingering slightly behind the rest, Steve and Phillipa were talking quietly. For a very brief moment, Leo did wonder if the person of interest was the former soldier. Then he dismissed the idea, seeing the deeply confused expression on the man’s face. Allowing himself to slow, Leo came just close enough to overhear without technically being part of the conversation. It turned out Steve was asking her about how she could be a virgin and have had sex. Hello, 1940 values. 

“When people say have sex they can mean a lot of parts of it,” Phillipa was trying to get across. 

“Sex has parts?” Steve asked, both abashed and bewildered. 

“Oh, yes. Um, don’t- whatever you do- don’t ask Lexi about that. Probably not Stark either. He’d just make things up. Didn’t your parents ever. . . hint?” 

Steve turned red. “Not completely. I mean, my dad died when I was little. And my mom- I don’t think I exactly understood.” 

“Okay.” Phillipa thought for a moment, and then she said, “There’s this kind of old structure for dividing up the parts- in baseball terms. First base is kissing. Second base is when you touch each other in, er, places. Third base would be if you kissed those places. And actual penetration would be a home run, if you know what I mean.” 

“People kiss. . . those places?” Poor soldier, he looked torn between horror and intrigue. 

Phillipa nodded firmly. “Yes. Trust me, even though it sounds a little gross, it’s way good. Kind of like. . . like the touching but more intimate.” 

“Oh.” 

“Um, but you don’t have to talk to me about it,” Phillipa insisted, turning red herself. “There’s heaps of books about it, and the internet- no, forget I said that. NEVER look for stuff about sex on the internet. Um, Dr. Banner might know more about it. I mean, he is a doctor, right?” 

More than I ever wanted to think about, Leo thought to himself as he moved on ahead. Then again, his boss was very much into Captain America. This might amuse him. Or horrify him. Well, Leo was not going to be the one to tell Agent Coulson that his childhood hero had been discussing home runs with his daughter. 

But when brunch was over, and Skye had tailed along with Phillipa to the farmer’s market- the advent of which had brought a certain unexpectedly ruthless shine to Phillipa’s eyes- everyone else nominated him to break the news to his boss: Phillipa was more than definitely active with a serious partner. Over his protests, they pretty much offered him up to the altar. Without Skye to simply blurt it all out, Leo was volunteered to beard the lion in his den. 

“Fine lot of partners you are,” he grumbled as he mounted the steps. “I feel like Isaac, except I know what’s going to happen.” 

Timidly, he knocked at the door. However, Coulson did not answer. With a sort of grim determination to get it all over with, Agent Fitz opened the door. But no one was in. He had dodged the bullet for the moment. Hopefully Skye would be back before the boss. Otherwise, no amount of armor in the world was going to protect him.


	39. Entry

Loaded down with paper bags full of produce, Phillipa felt slightly foolish. This was probably more than she needed for the week. But she did have a refrigerator all to herself, with a crisper drawer. And the market had had the tastiest spinach and kale she had found in a while.

She did the standard awkward juggling act as she dug her key out of her pocket. Putting it into the lock without crushing her salad was another test of her flexibility and coordination. At last, she had the door ready to open. Putting the key between her lips, she gave the knob a twist and pushed at the portal with her foot. 

Very nearly skidding on a pair of thick envelopes, she stepped into her apartment. Using her hip to close the door, she avoided the packages the second time and set her bags down on the breakfast bar. Then she picked up the mail and placed those on the counter as well. First she would put away the salad. Whatever those letters said would keep for ten minutes. Would Loki enjoy salad? 

Accordingly, when the greens were all carefully crammed into her refrigerator, she came back to the breakfast bar to open her notes. One had her name written on it in flamboyant handwriting, and the other was printed with common typeset. After a brief waffle of opinion, Phillipa opened the one with outrageous script. It had the potential to be more interesting. 

From Professor Cassidy, it let her know rather bluntly that she would be joining his summer term class, as well as seeing him for individual sessions. Only the postscript, “I expect to do wonderful things with that lovely voice of yours,” contained any personal touch. Still, he had called her voice lovely. That was something. Also inside were a series of exercises she was to memorize for the first session a week from Tuesday, at ten in the morning. 

The other letter held a lot more papers. First and foremost was her class schedule, laid out initially in basic information, and then in a calendar format. As Professor Cassidy had mentioned, she was in his beginner’s course as well as having one-on-one training. To add to that, she had a course in music history with Professor Cullen, beginning musical theory with Professor Strauss, and an individual piano course with. . . the Dean! Good grief! 

Also jammed into the envelope were a half dozen forms to sign, a packet on student health insurance, and finally a typed letter from the Dean. Even his signature was typeset. Almost expecting a formulaic missive, Phillipa was shocked to find it more familiar than Professor Cassidy’s. 

Firstly, he wanted her to understand that she was arguably the finest of the applicants for the summer term. Her audition had been beyond the pale, particularly her very bold choice to sing in a foreign tongue. It had been wonderful, and nearly beyond description. In particular, her choice of accompaniment had been- well, she had a talent for spotting talent, too. He insisted that her talent was something precious in the everyday world- regardless of how little she improved in terms of formal talent. Polish, she was to remember, would do her a world of good. And she was to remember that all skills should be used, whether great or negligible, lest they slip away. Hence, the piano instruction. Besides, the Dean had been informed by Phillipa’s close friend, Mr. Stark, that the author of her piano talent had been her late father. It would be, she was to rest assured, a lovely way to honor his memory. 

Her close friend? More like her soon-to-be-late friend, Phillipa thought in annoyance. She had trouble enough believing in her own voice. Stretching her abilities to include the piano was going too far. 

Oh, but Loki had believed! He had been right, too. Apparently, MSM wanted her badly enough to bend a whole slew of rules, not to mention reality. It was just in the realm of possibility that she was talented. Not much, of course, given how the Dean had insisted that she would not be formally recognized as good. Still, no one she trusted had ever given her the slightest hint that she had any kind of real ability. Had her father? No, she would have remembered something so precious as that. Certainly her mother had not wanted Phillipa to open her mouth too often to speak, let alone sing. 

She read the Dean’s letter over, forcing herself to remove every adjective. Basically, she was welcome as a student and had some potential to do good for herself- no, more likely for the school. As a talent scout, she supposed. Well, that might not be the worst thing. It seemed like the kind of job she could do while working at Dark of the Moon, too. 

So Professor Cassidy was the one, she thought as she glanced over his letter too, who rang true. Even taking out the adjectives, he had expectations for her voice, her talent. He believed in her ability. Probably not as much as her friends did, but what did they know? The only one she could really suspect of having much knowledge in that regard was Lexi- but she was far too guarded to let much of herself show, even while snooping on others. Jay did not know talent as much as he knew how to stuff a girl into a becoming outfit and get her out and prancing. 

What about Loki? She mused this thought over even as she was deciding which greens to put into her snack. He had said from the start that he adored her voice. Over naughty sex acts, he took a song as payment, which surely was not usual for a red-blooded male. Although he had wormed his way into quite a few sex acts for free just lately, the beast. Not, she hastily thought, that she minded. He was so damn good at it. 

Tracing her finger over the tattoo, she wondered when it would be visible and what the hell she was going to say. It would have been nice to have been consulted. No one would believe that she loved snakes. Lexi would probably make a joke about the phallic nature of-

Damn, now that girl had her thinking disgusting things! Well, it could hardly be helped. Usually Lexi sent her regular emails, with songs to try or helpful tips about working the floor. But out of the blue, every now and then, she would send a horrific picture depicting some kind of awful and disturbed sex act. Or a link that had nothing to do with its name. That she was getting wary of, at least. The strangest thing was, a lot of those terrible pictures- if she could keep her vomit down long enough to check- seemed to be replies to someone. Each time Phillipa had tried to suggest Lexi was mis-replying, though, the girl had been genuinely affronted. They were, so Phillipa surely knew, entirely for her. 

That was enough dwelling on that. When did the term start? Next week? Well, with this schedule in hand, she could figure out a schedule at work as well. That would make Jay happy, and would get her a paycheck, albeit small, to buy some supplies with. 

Someone knocked at her door. Surprised, Phillipa put her bowl in the sink and went to peer at the peephole. Slightly puzzled, she undid the chain and opened her door. 

“You don’t knock,” she told Loki once he was inside. 

“I have thought about it, and I fear it is discourteous of me to presume the right to come inside without your permission.” 

“Oh.” She boggled for a moment, and then got a grip. “Well, for anyone else it would be. But- but I’ll make an exception for you.” 

“Will you?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. 

She caught hold of his lapels and pulled until he was bent over her, their lips nearly touching. “Anything for you.” 

When they came up for air from a very passionate greeting, Loki whispered in her ear, “And what have I done to earn so. . . enthusiastic a hello from my beloved?” 

Laughing slightly, Phillipa kissed his cheek. “You believed in me. And you were right.” 

“Naturally.” He slid his hands down from her back to rest very lightly on her hips. “You will find me seldom wrong in any arena, my own.” 

“Arrogant,” she murmured, pulling back just enough to tease him. 

“But true,” he insisted, following her steps until he had her pinned in the entry. “As you so desire.” 

Eyes locked on this striking man, who had chosen her above all others, Phillipa said softly, “I love you.” 

“And I, you,” he said in return. “Now, my own, have I yet earned my other reward? For I suspect I have only been recompensed for believing in you.” 

“You only ever have one thing on your mind,” she insinuated, ducking the query. 

Loki chuckled and pressed himself against her, rubbing suggestively. “And that thing is?” 

“Sex.” 

“Ah-ah, you are incorrect.” 

“Then what is it?” 

“If you wish to know,” he said with a wicked twinkle in his eye, “You must pay a forfeit.” 

Phillipa almost hesitated, but she had nothing to fear from him. “All right.” 

Slowly, he raised her up against the wall until her eyes were level with his. To prop her up, he had her wrap her legs around his waist. Breath coming a little faster, Phillipa wondered what payment he was going to exact from her. For now, however, he merely pressed his lips to hers, and slid his tongue into her mouth. She gave in completely, absolutely willing to let him have his way, wherever that might lead. 

“You learn so quickly,” he murmured, pulling away for a moment. “Yet you do not know what it is that is always on my mind? Think, my own. What do I treasure above all else?” 

She looked into his eyes, thinking. This was a gesture of compassion, so Dr. Banner had told her. Ultimately, if she trusted him completely, she could lock gazes with him forever. He watched her as well, distracting her only with a few light caresses. With a burst of sudden understanding, she let the truth well up inside of her, beautiful and terrible all at once. 

“Me,” she breathed, her voice catching and tears blurring her vision. “It’s me.” 

“As it always was, and ever shall be,” he told her, still gazing on her face. “You are my heart’s own. And my only love.” 

Heart both full and breaking for him, Phillipa kissed him. She had no words to soothe the pain that he must feel. Now she understood better than ever: she was his only love, and his only friend. Not once had he mentioned anyone but her. She was the one with friends; he had no one. Without her, he would be alone. 

“I won’t leave you,” she breathed. “I promise, I’ll always be here.” 

“Shh. It is nothing to me any longer. Now that I have you at last, I will never desire any other. You are and will forever be my everything.” 

Somewhere inside of her, a little twinge of fear tried to make itself heard about the tone he was using, so vehement and almost obsessive. It died in the face of her love. She knew much of what he felt. Had she been less lucky in the last two years, or indeed, in the last two weeks, she would be nearly the same. Why should she be the one who profited, while he remained isolated? 

“Loki,” she began, but he cut her off with a deep kiss. By the time they came up for air, he was already undoing her bodice. 

“Curse your garments,” he muttered as his fingers struggled with a clasp. “I want to feel your naked flesh against me. Now.” 

Phillipa raised her left arm and undid the zipper hidden beneath. Just at the moment was not the time to point out that he had liked what she had been wearing when she put it on that morning. She had nearly been unable to leave. Pulling her blouse off, she tossed it aside. Loki was removing his own shirt, but he stayed her hand before she could unhook her bra. 

“Leave that. The skirt first.” He nipped at her neck, just below her ear. “I wish to see what you planned to tempt me with this evening.” 

Panting, Phillipa struggled to heave the skirt over her breasts. “A salad. I bought a lot of greens.” 

“To complement these, I have no doubt.” Loki raked her figure over with approving eyes. 

Her new bras had been black with lace, white satin, and this darker green that was almost like silk. She had not been as picky about the underwear, but obviously he liked the black. Mostly, she was proud of herself for remembering to wear the belly chain. Pressing himself against her once more, Phillipa was instantly aware of the fact that he was completely nude. When she again tried to undo her bra, he caught her hands. 

“I said you would pay a forfeit, did I not? Now, my own, I wish to see you burning with desire.” He bit down on her neck over his earlier mark, hard. “Writhe in lust, knowing that only I can set you free.” 

“I do actually know that,” Phillipa insisted, even as he ground himself, pelvis to pelvis, against her. 

“Do you?” he purred. “And yet, how many men were you with today?” 

“They’re just friends,” she protested. “None of them mean what you mean to me.” 

Loki continued nipping up her throat, pausing only to ask, “And what am I to you?” 

“You- I-” Thinking was made very difficult by the way his penis was pressing itself to her clitoris through her panties. Rallying what brain cells remained, Phillipa gasped out, “Everything. I can’t- I can’t live without you anymore.” 

“Most especially my cock,” he teased, cupping her breasts and nipping at her lower lip. “No one has ever shown you how to love yourself, so I will always be your first.” 

“My only,” Phillipa burst out. “I don’t want anyone but you.” 

“Oh? Are your fingers not enough? Show me what you learned the other night,” he ordered, pulling away so that she ended up standing alone. 

“But-” 

Loki leaned in to kiss her passionately. “Show me how you yearn for me. Then, perhaps, I will have a reward for you.” 

Put like that, Phillipa supposed she was happily doomed. Still, she was not certain how to make this attractive for him. Sure, she might feel good, but would that at all arouse his desire? 

As she cupped and teased her breasts through her bra, she realized that was a stupid question. He very clearly enjoyed the sight, although he refrained from touching himself. It was his eyes that gave away his attraction. They followed every movement of her hands, the parting of her lips and held a smile for the way her back arched on its own. 

Making sure not to obstruct his view, she slid one hand down to tease at her clitoris. The more aroused she became, the less she cared about his eyes on her or how good a show she was putting on. This must be what wanton truly meant: the freedom to seek pleasure for its own sake. And yet, she did still want him to enjoy the sight. She wanted to push him to take her. 

Even though she could hardly stop herself, she was becoming increasingly frustrated. In spite of what she was doing, it was not enough. Touching herself was nowhere near as good as his fingers inside of her, his lips on her clitoris, or even the vibrator buzzing away inside of her. 

“Do you burn for me, my own?” he asked tenderly, coming to her side and softly brushing the hair from her face. 

“Yes. Oh, Loki. I can’t-” She almost sobbed, needing a release she was too far from. “I want-” 

“Shh. Let me help you.” 

Sliding his hand under her waistband, he made full contact with her clitoris, but only briefly. His obvious goal was her vagina, and his finger slipped inside easily. Moaning, she bucked her hips forward, but he held her back from being too eager. 

“Easy, my own. You are not quite ready for that.” He kissed her gently. “More training is in order, I can see. I must teach you how to build your own lust.” 

To illustrate, he used his thumb to rub her clitoris. Phillipa was writhing in moments. Where did he learn to be so skilled at this? They locked lips and twined tongues as best they could with her panting and groaning. As she finally managed to catch hold of his penis, he added a second finger to his count. 

“I told you that you cannot live without my cock,” he breathed into her ear. 

“Would you just fuck me already?” she demanded, and laughed at herself. He stared, and then grinned broadly. 

“Never,” he said, chuckling. Then he upped the stimulation on her clitoris, leaving her almost too weak in the knees to stand. 

Doing her best to keep up, Phillipa assisted him in his climb to orgasm by stroking his penis. Not content to simply stroke back and forth, she took time to rub just underneath the head, his favorite spot. Judging by the way his hips jerked forward, she had found the right technique. 

Unwilling, as ever, to be the first to orgasm, he pulled out her breasts enough to allow him to suck and bite at her nipples. Loki was very talented, making it even harder for her to concentrate on his penis. When he bit at her left nipple and ground his thumb over her clitoris while pounding his fingers inside of her, reaching almost to underneath her clitoris, Phillipa could not hold back. She had to let go of him, lest her clenching hands do real harm. Loki had her over the edge. 

He supported her while she spasmed uncontrollably, only holding in her own cries by sheer willpower. This close to the door, the entire floor would know exactly what she had been up to. Much as she loved Loki, it was getting embarrassing to be given those knowing looks. It did not help that all the while, he was still going at it. He even crushed her lips with his own, seemingly well pleased with her performance. 

When she had recovered enough, she reached for him again. Kissing along her jawline, he allowed her to stroke him. She went to work, although she would have loved to suck and kiss his penis. He was not letting her leave his arms, so she contented herself with caressing his penis and cupping his balls. 

“Yes! I am getting close. Ah, that’s it!” 

“On my breasts?” she hinted, but he only nipped at her earlobe. His thumb caught her clitoris again and she bucked forward. She was so sensitive! That did not stop her from moving her hips to assist him. 

“Naughty girl,” he breathed. “You want to cum again.” 

“You first.” 

“In that case.” He pushed her down to her knees, and then further still, so that she was on her back, looking up at him. “Push your breasts together.” 

Even as she did as she was told, he slid his fingers out of her vagina. She moaned at the abrupt lack, and he grinned lopsidedly. Rubbing his slick hand between her breasts, and then over his penis, he reassured her, 

“I will get back to you in just a moment, you needy creature.” 

Apparently satisfied, he slipped his now-lubricated cock into her cleavage. Surprised, Phillipa could only watch in awe as he used her chest much as she understood a vagina to be used. She did her best to hold her breasts for him, although he was intent on abusing her nipples further as he slid back and forth, fucking her breasts for all he was worth. As promised, he had not abandoned her needs entirely, keeping his thumb on her clitoris to help her along as well. Just the feel of his weight on her was more than arousing enough, but she was not complaining about the extra attention. 

His semen was hot as always, spurting out from her cleavage to fall on her breastbone and even her chin. Equally as always, he was quick to lap up his seed, feeding it to her in a toe-curling kiss. With his fingers inside of her once more, and the taste of him in her mouth, Phillipa gave in totally to his ministrations. When she came for the second time, he was grinning arrogantly. 

“You,” she breathed out. “You are the cause of so much laundry!” 

Laughing outright, he helped her to her feet. “Forgive me?” 

“If you help me with it, I will consider it.” 

“Such a mischievous smile,” he purred, running a finger over her lips. “I love you more and more with every passing day.” 

Kissing his fingertip, Phillipa wickedly told him, “As well you should.” 

“Naughty,” he scolded, drawing her in close. “Do you want to keep playing? Or shall we adjourn to the shower?” 

“Mmm, shower,” voted Phillipa. “Where I shall have the pleasure of your naked body right up against mine for a little while more.” 

“Flirt.” 

“Lover,” she corrected, standing up on tiptoe to steal a kiss. He obliged her before sweeping her off of her feet to carry her to the bathroom. Cuddling against him, Phillipa considered herself the luckiest woman alive. How had she lived without him? 

“I love you,” she murmured into his neck, kissing softly at his throat. “Forever and ever.” 

He said nothing, only smiled tenderly. It was enough.


	40. Cameras

Agent Coulson arrived back at his mobile command unit late that afternoon. After the scolding he had received from the director- who obviously knew this would change none of Phil’s tactics- he could use some good news. However, not a single member of his team would meet his eyes when he asked about his daughter. Had her audition gone poorly? 

He noticed Skye was missing when Leo came in. Clearly he was the one to draw the short straw. Usually Skye volunteered, not so much to show camaraderie as to insist she was not afraid of the boss. She was probably the only one who knew he was only asking for the moderately impossible. It was not as though he expected them to put a man on the moon in six hours, unless, naturally, he was. 

While Leo mumbled around the whole subject, Phil tried not to snap at the engineer. All he wanted to know was whether or not Phillipa had done well. Why was this such a hard question to answer? 

“Hey Phil- oops, sorry Leo,” chirped Skye, barging right in cheerfully. 

“You had coffee, didn’t you?” Coulson accused the hacker. She grinned. 

“I did not drink any coffee.” Under his penetrating stare, she caved almost at once. “Okay, so I had a few coffee beans. They were practically fresh from Costa Rica. How was I supposed to resist?” 

“And how many coffee beans constitute a few?” Phil inquired, watching her vibrate just enough to be noticeable. 

“Oh, half a pound. Kidding! A handful. Hey, listen, I have something for you on Walter that you’ll want to see.” 

“Who’s Walter?” he asked patiently, noting with interest the pained look that crossed Agent Fitz’s face. 

“Oh, he didn’t tell you about Walter yet? What kind of slowpokes are you guys?” 

“I haven’t even heard how her audition went thus far,” Phil informed the young woman. She waved a dismissive hand, narrowly avoiding smacking the hesitant Leo in the face as he tried to reclaim the duty from her. Ignoring his tentative assertions, the hacker took over the confession entirely. 

“She was perfect. What do you expect? She’s always perfect. I’ve got that on video, too, but the stuff about Walter is more interesting. Hey, where’s Dopey? Oh, there you are, little guy. You know, when I’ve had this much coffee you are almost cute. Yep, I’m talking to you. Here, let’s plug this in, and you work your magic with the playback.” 

It was more than a little impressive, the speed at which Skye was talking. Now Phil saw the drawbacks to slipping her decaf- it only made her reaction to excessive doses to caffeine more pronounced. In the future, he would consult the medical department. Maybe there was a way to give the girl an allergy to it. Then he might be able to follow her logic. 

“Oh, yeah, Leo totally didn’t tell you about Walter. So Walter is her boyfriend- but don’t get excited because that’s not his name. Although she could be super smart and it is his name, but she’s not deceitful like that. Hey, isn’t deceitful a good word? Anyway, she told us about him and that she loves him and stuff. And then Mr. Stark was all sassy at her and she totally floored him with a very good comeback and the look on his face- I have a picture if you want to see. Totally going on my hard drive. But later. So, that’s what Leo didn’t want to tell you- oh and that Phillipa was totally explaining the baseball metaphor about sex to Captain America because Walter hasn’t hit a homerun yet. Which is weird, you know, because he’s a guy and there’s nothing guys like better.” 

“Skye,” Coulson said, if nothing else to make her stop talking for a minute. There were about four different questions brought up by that swift monologue. He needed a moment to remove all the swear words from them. 

“Okay, here it is. I asked Phillipa about her man at the market, because I thought you’d want to know and because she is a very honest girl and mostly because I’d had a handful of coffee beans and it’s amazing what I ask people when I’ve had coffee. Really, it’s like a disease. Go ahead, Dopey.” 

Before Coulson could fully grasp her high-speed monologue, the bug robot was projecting on his office wall. In surprisingly high definition, he watched his daughter running her fingers lightly over several bundles of kale. In the background, he could hear the market in full swing, including someone asking what kind of market had nothing but strawberries and some small child wailing about a lost ‘loon. 

“Hey Phillipa,” Skye’s voice said, presumably from the other side of the recording device. 

When Phillipa looked up, her father was struck by the look she gave the camera. He had seen that look before. She used to give it to him over the rim of her Minnie Mouse sunglasses when he suggested she try something that was not a vegetable. As far as he was concerned, it was a look designed to impress upon the other party how miserably stupid they were. 

“Skye,” she said, in a tone that made Leo choke. Phil pretended not to notice how perfectly she had mimicked his earlier threatening use of the hacker’s name. 

“Come on, say hello,” Skye cajoled. 

Eyebrows up, Phillipa nevertheless complied. “Hello.” 

“So, are you having fun at the market?” 

“Skye, why are you taking a video of me?” Which question clearly meant, “Stop taking video of me before I punch you in the face.” 

“Posterity,” Skye promptly replied. “Tell me about Walter.” 

“I don’t want to tell your camera about Walter,” Phillipa protested, starting to turn red. 

“Okay, think of it as an unofficial interview on modern girls and their relationships. Come on, I get graded on this.” 

Suspiciously, Phillipa said, “You’re not going to show this to anyone, are you?” 

“No one who will come and bother you about it, if that’s what you mean,” Skye insisted smoothly. “So, how did you meet Walter?” 

“Skye- ugh, fine. I met him at work.” Phillipa turned back to the kale and brought up a bunch to sniff. “Do you really need to do this now?” 

“Yep. And how did you two meet?’ 

Sighing, Phillipa put down the kale and said, “He watched me singing for a while. Then, one night, he told me how much he admired my voice. And a couple of days later, he told me a joke.” 

“And when did you two first engage in, shall we say, nuptial activities?” 

“I am not telling you that!” 

“It’s for my grade, remember? None of the others are even listening. Look, Lexi is picking out all the strawberries that are not up to her standards, much to the vexation of the innocent vendor, and Ren, who is haranguing her. Jessica and Lexi are also discussing cucumbers in a fashion to upset any male in the vicinity. You’re safe.” 

“I- oh, fine. We. . . we did some things the night he told me a joke.” She blushed harder. “You seriously aren’t going to-” 

“What kind of things?” 

“None of your business kind of things,” Phillipa decided. 

“But you enjoyed it?” 

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t have done it two more- I mean, I would not be his girlfriend if I didn’t.” Turning back to the kale, she picked up two bunches. “Are we done yet?” 

“Have you gone all the way?” 

“No. He says it would hurt me. And he doesn’t want to do that. Really, Skye-” 

“Do you do anything. . . kinky?” Skye questioned. 

“Damn it,” Phillipa muttered. “Yes. I suppose so.” 

“Oho- you suppose so?” 

“Well, it just seems. . . natural at the time. Um, and the first time was kind of my fault. Er, and probably the other times too.” She halted and thought for a moment. “But I guess if he didn’t think that way too, nothing would come of it. I don’t know that I’d enjoy it without the- actually, I’m not telling you that.” 

“Aw. Be that way, then. But what about Walter? What’s he like? Outside the bedroom, I mean?” 

“We don’t always do it in- I mean, um. He likes to read. Oh, and he liked Dr. Horrible. We watched it with Amanda and Nelly. And his favorite color is green, I think. I suppose I could ask him.” 

“Do you talk a lot, then?” 

Phillipa’s gaze turned distant. “Sometimes. Mostly, we just. . . we’re together. Do you know what I mean? When I’m with him, it’s like. . . I don’t know. Like I’m not alone.” 

“Well, duh.” 

“Not that kind of- haven’t you been in a relationship?” 

“Sure. But try to be a little more specific.” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Phil watched his daughter shrug. “When I’m with other people, I can still feel alone. But I never feel that way with him. We don’t even have to touch. It’s enough that he’s there.” 

“Aw, that’s so cute!” 

Blushing furiously again, Phillipa asked of the camera, “Is that all?” 

“Last question. Cross my heart. Have you said I love you?” 

“Of course. He said it first,” she added. Phil’s eyes narrowed. That was not usual. 

“And under what circumstances did this happen?” 

“You sound like a report,” Phillipa complained. “It was. . . um, the night after we- anyway, he had to go away for a few days and I didn’t want him to. But he promised he would come back, and he would take care of me.” 

“Very sweet. But how did he find you after-” 

“Ha! Not telling. You already had two last questions, Miss Skye.” Triumphant, Phillipa turned to buy her kale at last. 

“You really do love him, don’t you?” Skye asked softly. 

Smiling faintly, Phillipa looked over her shoulder. “Of course I do. He’s like the prince my dad always said would come for me someday. He knows everything about me, and he loves me anyway. I don’t see how I could love anyone else the way I love him. 

“Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he is gorgeous to look upon,” she tacked on with a flippant grin. It settled into a much softer look almost at once, and Phil realized she was thinking of this “Walter.” His little baby was really in love. 

The clip ended, and Skye added for his benefit, “I thought you should see.” 

“Thank you, Skye. Anything to add?” 

Slightly surprised, Skye told him, “She said she was going to ask Walter this afternoon when he wanted to meet people.” 

Turning away to avoid the look she was giving him, Agent Coulson said, “Good job, both of you. Now go back to work.” 

“Sir, don’t you want-” 

“I want, Skye, for you to go out there and concentrate on the rest of your job. Oh, and turn over Jemma’s camera. I’ll see to it that she gets it when she returns from her meeting with the director.” 

When they had gone, Phil shuffled the papers on his desk and started reading. He was not actually seeing the words, but what did that matter? His team needed an example, and he had to be it. With the director breathing down his neck, Coulson absolutely had to maintain a front of calm. 

She was in love. That was what was killing him at the moment. She really believed that the boy- whoever he was- was going to be with her forever. She had no idea what boys like him were capable of, even when they did not mean it. Everything was going to change for her, and she had no concept of what was coming. 

There were two big red flags: the boy said “I love you” before she did, which was not usual. Girls got caught up in the emotions surrounding sex far more easily than boys, which was why they said those three magic words first. And there was the fact that “Walter” had been watching her for a long time before he spoke up. Two months indicated a spying tendency. He “knew everything” about her, too. Was he possessive as well? How would this all end and where could he head it off? 

He could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, for all that he was insistent upon Phillipa taking things slowly. Not that damn slowly, though, if he had any grip on the kink they had gotten up to on their very first night. And she thought she instigated it. 

God, he wanted to be wrong. He wanted this boy to be her one true love who swept her away to safety. It was all she deserved after her childhood. But it would not be that way, he knew from experience. If he waited too long, she would lose everything. 

“You know, it looks more convincing if you turn the page every now and then,” commented Agent Barton from his insubordinately relaxed position in the doorway. 

“Close the door,” Phil instructed him. “It also looks more convincing if people don’t give you away loudly.” 

“Could be. They aren’t stupid. Well, not completely stupid, anyway,” Barton added as the latch clicked. 

Phil stood up. “All right. What’s the shakedown for?” 

“Nothing you have,” Barton assured him. “Nat and I have more clearance than your team, anyway. And we are keeping an eye on her.” 

“I haven’t seen you,” Phil pointed out. 

“Exactly.” 

“Fair enough. So why are you here?” 

Barton leaned insolently against the door jam. “To tell you to back off of Phillipa.” 

“She’s-” 

“Listen to me for a minute, Phil.” Barton nodded at him. “I don’t challenge your rights as her dad. But you’re going to break her into a million pieces if you push too hard right now. She’s already on the edge. Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t notice it yourself.” 

“When-” 

“You know how much she’s suffered. Maybe she’s flying high right at the moment, but any little thing could pull her back down. For your own sake, don’t be the one to make that happen.” 

“She is being stalked-” 

Barton shook his head. “I know you need to think like that, and I respect it. But you have to let Nat and I handle this. You don’t need this problem right now, and your team doesn’t either. Officially, you have jurisdiction over the club. Your new girl did a good job there, and I’ll turn a blind eye to any extra information they might pick up. Just stay away from Phillipa elsewhere, unless she invites them in. 

“This isn’t easy for me, either. You know how I respect you, and you stuck your neck out for me more times than I can count. I owe you, and I will do my damndest to keep your daughter safe. But I won’t let you screw yourself up because you’re afraid of what may happen. Nor will I allow you to ruin her chance at happiness. Damn it, Phil, she has so little. You know that. Don’t take it away out of fear.” 

“Then give me something, Clint! I’ve got nothing on this boy, or what he’s like.” 

Agent Barton shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. For the same reason that Phillipa won’t give anyone his name: you’d only go and intimidate him. You’re a good dad, Coulson, but it’s time to be a better agent.” 

Before Phil could deliver a rebuttal, Barton had opened the door and left. Without anyone to argue with, the wind was gone from his sails. He shut his door, went back to his desk, and once again pretended to work. What else was there to do? 

When his team took a break all at once, however, Phil took advantage of the moment to reach into his bottom left desk drawer. Of course it did not live there, any more than it lived in his glove compartment or under his pillow next to his first Captain America Trading Card. Careful of the view from the door, Phil turned in his chair and cupped the precious photograph in his hands. He never missed a day of looking at it, and it was never far from him at any time. First thing in the morning, he slipped it into his breast pocket, and he never left it in his locker like he was supposed to. This was important. 

She was still a very little girl. Somehow, he had never gotten a shot that was more touching. The way she was reaching up, the smile spreading over her whole face, the sun lighting up her hair, her favorite dress rippling with the wind and her excitement- he could never replace it. And perhaps it was because she was stretching her arms toward him, perhaps it was all the trust she showed, perhaps this was the way he cut himself up inside to make up for betraying her- but he loved it. He loved her so much, and this was what he had left. 

“I still love you, baby Ani. I’ll find a way to make this right, I promise you.” 


	41. A Burro, In Fact

After checking in with Jay over the phone, Phillipa hung up with a little sigh. It still felt a bit early to be going back to work. Maybe she should call Jemma just to be sure. It would be awful if she hurt herself without realizing that was even a possibility. Then again, she was probably just being a wuss. 

Someone wrapped their arms around her waist. “Have you finished with your interminable time wasters?” 

“It isn’t a waste,” she scolded Loki, but lovingly. “I need some money for school supplies. And I know that makes me sound like I’m in elementary school, so you can skip that joke.” 

“I would not bother with such a low-class jest. It would only prolong the moment between now and when you remove your clothes for me.” 

“Are you sure the thing you think about most isn’t sex?” Phillipa asked, even as he began tracing light circles on her hips. 

“As it is with you, ever and always, I hardly think it totals to more than I think on you, my own.” He kissed the top of her head. “Rest assured, it will only ever be your body that I desire.” 

His hands were less platonic, traveling up from her hips to grasp her breasts indecently. Pulling her sharply against him, he gave her a lot to think about. Mostly, she wondered how she would survive such a lusty boyfriend. Particularly one with skillful hands that knew exactly where to pinch and caress to have her whole body completely under his control. 

“You are a serious distraction,” Phillipa complained. “I need to eat, and so do you.” 

“I can eat you,” he breathed, letting one hand slide down her front suggestively. “Both fulfilling and satisfying.” 

Before they could test this theory, someone knocked at the front door. Sighing in annoyance, Loki released her. She turned to look at him. Softly, he kissed her lips. 

“It is your second most obnoxious friend, Stark. See to him. I will return later.” 

“You don’t want to meet him?” 

Loki gave her a look. “I have no interest in him. Only you. But you may tell him. . . yes, you may tell him that he owes me a drink.” 

A second knock made Phillipa turn back to the entryway. Giving in, she headed for the door. As Loki had predicted, it was Tony Stark. With a package. Eyes narrowing, Phillipa considered leaving him out in the cold. Someone had to make him stop giving her stuff before she exploded. 

Taking a deep breath, Phillipa undid the chain and opened the door. “Stop giving me things.” 

“Stop being so adorable, then. Every time you look at me with those big eyes, I need to give you something. Same principal with animals at the zoo.” 

“Thank you for comparing me to an elephant.” 

“A cute elephant, mind you. But, as I told you before, you need a computer for school. Before you have a cow- a cute cow- this is just a tablet. It wasn’t nearly as expensive as you think. It has a lot of cool features, most specifically the USB ports. I would have gotten you an iPad if they had these. With this little guy- I think you should call him little Tony- you can download a bunch of apps to help you with your music and your papers, and all those movies you have never seen which, frankly, continues to appall me.” 

“What- you- ‘Little Tony?’ ” Phillipa finally managed to demand. 

Stark pondered for a moment. “All right, maybe not that. In fact, please don’t call it that. Anything but that- no, scratch that too. Don’t call it ‘little’ anything.” 

“So I could call it ‘big Tony?’” 

“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” 

Phillipa shrugged. “I kind of thought that was you.” 

Stark eyed her. “Did I interrupt something?” 

“Just my boyfriend trying to change my mind about what I was going to eat. Or rather, what he was going to eat. I’m pretty sure we hadn’t opened negotiations about what I’d eat.” 

“. . . Stop giving me details. Where is he, then?” 

“He left. I told you, he’s shy.” 

“Not that shy, if he’s negotiating like that. Why didn’t he hang around?” 

Raising an eyebrow, Phillipa pointed out, “He wasn’t going to get what he wanted. Oh, and he says you owe him a drink.” 

Snapping his fingers, Stark nodded. “Now I get why you’re mad at me. Well, I apologize. You could just not answer the door, you know.” 

“And this would stop you how, exactly?” 

“Well, it would give you the time it takes for me to get some muscle over here to open your door.” 

“He’s not a quick shot,” Phillipa informed him, watching with interest the way he tried to avoid thinking about that. “He likes to take his time- enjoy the moment, you could say. And-” 

“Okay, so this is your tablet. Ports are here and here. I got you a USB drive, in case you didn’t have one. Don’t worry, 32 gigs is pretty damn cheap these days. And you have headphones, right? The girls mentioned it when we were moving your things. Hey, you should have your professor look at that music you wrote-” 

“No!” Phillipa snapped. He goggled. 

“Okay. I just thought-” 

“Well, don’t! No one needs to see that- that crap. I was thirteen and stupid. Pretty much synonymous terms, really.” 

“Well, yes, I guess so. Um, so you don’t want to talk about-” 

“No, I do not.” 

“Okay.” Stark seemed at a loss. “What, um, what were you going to have for dinner?” 

“Salad.” 

“Do you ever have anything but salad?” 

“Not really,” Phillipa said curtly. 

“Well, I suppose it makes menu planning easier. Speaking of, you need a party.” 

“I had a party,” Phillipa pointed out. “No more parties are necessary.” 

Stark clucked his tongue as he set the tablet down on her lone table. “Do you even know how much of the summer you are going to miss? Friday is going to be a nice, hot, sunny day, and I volunteer my pool for your purposes. Of course, it’s always open to you, as a friend.” 

“I’m working on Saturday night,” Phillipa pointed out. 

“Great. You’ll have plenty of time to recover. Come on, you’re only young once. Unless you’re Cap. Then you’re forever young, the bastard. On the plus side, pretty much everybody thinks he’s an idiot because he can’t work out how to use his phone.” 

“I don’t need to have a party,” Phillipa tried to protest, while resolving to make sure Steve had a quick overview of his phone from Jessica. 

“Oh, well, if you don’t want to come, I guess everyone is going to be disappointed.” 

Suspicious, she asked, “Who is everyone?” 

Counting up on his fingers, and quickly running out of them, Stark named names, “Lexi, Jessica, Ren- who promised to kill me in so many inventive ways- Steve, Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Pepper, Skye, Jemma, Leo, and even that stuck up Grant Ward. Hardly anyone, really. I was thinking food, drinks, messing around in the pool- maybe some party games, karaoke. Start at noon and done by, oh, two a.m. or so. Hey, did you know your mouth is hanging open?” 

“No one can party for fourteen hours straight!” 

Stark grinned. “Would you like to lay bets?” 

Grumpily, Phillipa admitted, “No. But, really, I don’t need a party. I’d rather stay home with L-Walter.” 

“You are so cute,” Stark said while patting her head, much to her annoyance. “He can come too. I’ll even give him that drink.” 

“That’s too many people for him,” Phillipa hedged. 

“So sad. I’m going to miss out on another buff man in shorts.” 

“He’s not that buff. More long and lean.” 

“Again, stop giving me details. Also, tell me you can’t convince him, because if you batted those lashes at me-” 

“He doesn’t like people,” Phillipa protested. “You should have been here to see me drag him over to Amanda’s to watch Dr. Horrible. It took forever. And he still won’t go over there just to say hello.” 

“I could play Dr. Horrible.” 

Phillipa shook her head. “He’s already seen it. That’s enough for him. Unless I was naked-” 

“I’m going to stop you right there because that was a visual I didn’t need. Are you sure a swimsuit isn’t enough?” 

“Not my swimsuit,” Phillipa assured him, thinking of the hideous daisy print one-piece in her drawer. “Besides, he prefers naked. Or my corsets, just lately.” 

“Are you ever going to stop that?” 

“I kind of thought a playboy like you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist, thank you very much. And it’s weird. You look like your dad.” Stark gestured vaguely at the picture Steve had made Agent Sitwell return to her. 

“So people keep telling me.” 

“Well, the resemblance is striking. Very much so. Anyway, it’s always sad to think about other people having sex when you’re not getting any.” 

Shrugging, Phillipa said, “Actually, it terrified me.” 

“No kidding?” 

“Well, I am a woman.” 

Stark paused in his poking around her living area. “Does that make sense?” 

“Look, the statistical probability of me ending up in a situation where I have sex when I don’t want to is so great, it’s almost a certainty. It’s reportedly 20% in the US, did you know? Well, I do. I also know that in 2011 there were over one thousand rapes reported in the city. So, you can enjoy sex or be sad about other people having sex, but I walk down the street every day wondering who it’s going to be- raping me.” 

“Um.” Stark held up a finger. “Not it.” 

“It’s not actually that funny,” Phillipa told him and walked around the breakfast bar to open the refrigerator. “Maybe I’m having consensual sex now, but odds are someday I won’t be. And every time some guy whistles at me, or touches me when I didn’t ask for it, you can bet I’m trying to determine if this is it. It doesn’t help that my mom taught me sex was the root of all evil- she went pretty strange sometimes, and it was always when I brought the consent to Sex Ed. form that she got real weird. 

“So yes, I didn’t talk about sex, and it felt scary that other people talked about it all the time- more so when I was around, actually. Knowing that any day I could lose my virginity to a complete stranger whether I wanted to or not put a big damper on my enthusiasm for all those tingles I might get from a nice guy. But Walter changed that for me and I’m happy to feel able to express myself. So you are totally raining on my parade and I don’t get why, when my other option is going back to being miserable about sex. Am I a slut to you, now? That’s the general term for a woman who enjoys her relationship, isn’t it? 

“I’m not saying that I don’t feel bad that you and Pepper broke up, or that you have no right to feel weird about me talking about what my boyfriend and I do in general terms. I just think that you have no concept of how strange it is to me to be told by the biggest slut in town that it’s weird for me to be open about what I’m doing.” 

“Can I object to being called a slut?” 

“On the grounds that you are a man? Absolutely not.” 

“I was thinking more on the grounds that I’ve never called anyone a slut. Well, except for Rhodes, and he doesn’t really count, because: bro-stuff. Listen, it doesn’t bother me that you’re having sex, except that I worry about how it could end up hurting you, because you’re young and fragile and you have no idea how this might screw you up inside- all innuendoes aside, it really can mess you up. I just don’t much want to picture what you’re up to in the bedroom, as I suspect you wouldn’t want to know precisely what I intend to do to your lovely friend, Ren, if I can prevent her from ripping my head off like a female praying mantis.” 

“They bite the heads off, actually.” 

“Kinky. So, let’s not get into specifics. Deal?” 

“Deal,” agreed Phillipa. “And I did mean what I said about you and Pepper. It seemed like you guys were a done deal.” 

“Tell me about it,” Stark muttered. “I thought if you loved someone, you stayed, no matter what.” 

“Maybe not no matter what,” Phillipa said, thinking of her mother. “Maybe- there have to be times when it isn’t what’s best.” 

“Yeah, well, leaving me because she thinks I’m always going to be running to her rescue is pretty fucked up.” 

“Is that why?” 

“That’s what she said. Damn, that doesn’t mean the same thing since that SNL skit.” 

Tilting her head and thinking hard, Phillipa asked, “Is that all she told you?” 

Waving his hands around in agitation, Stark admitted, “That, and something about protecting me and the rest of the world. It’s all bullshit. Like I can’t take care of her and everyone else.” 

“And what about you?” 

“Pardon?” 

“Who is taking care of you? I saw the clips from the Battle for New York. Everyone knows you almost died. And there was that thing with the Satsuma-” 

“The Mandarin, but I like your name better.” Stark had stepped into the kitchen area and was looking in her drawers. 

“Whatever. Look, the point is: you’re a hero now. Heroes think about other people. But if you have too many people who are important to you, the last person you think of is yourself. Maybe that works out okay for the other Avengers, but you’re Tony Stark. You throw yourself about a billion percent behind everything you do. If you play hero, you’re going to outdo everybody. And you’re going to get yourself killed.” 

“Hey, I take care of myself.” 

“Really? And when was the last time this belly saw the gym?” Phillipa asked, poking his side. 

“I do okay,” Stark insisted, dodging further pokes. 

“Okay? That doesn’t sound like Tony Stark. Pretty sure Tony Stark believes in being the best at everything. Maybe you should ask Clint for pointers. But seriously, maybe Pepper left you because she was scared that the next time she got in trouble, it was you who was going to pay the price. And she didn’t want to be responsible for you that way. It sucks, because I think if you love someone, you should be ready to take whatever comes your way, but I also know how much it hurts to think like that.” 

“To think she’s responsible for me? Because, as my secretary-” 

“To think that she is the one who is hurting you,” Phillipa snapped. “Be serious! I know it hurts that she’s gone, but you can’t just dodge the question forever thinking that somehow that will make the pain go away! It only gets worse! Trust me, I know. I already told you that. So go have some drinks with Rhodes, or Bruce and talk about it. And STOP BUYING ME THINGS. I am not a way to patch up your heart!” 

“And if I do that, will you let me leave in one piece?” 

While scolding him, Phillipa had unthinkingly backed him up into a corner of the kitchen. Whatever worked, she thought. He could go and whine at someone else. She had a sexy boyfriend who had promised her all kinds of attention that was a million times better than dealing with problems on a level that she had hoped she had left in her past. 

“Yes. So get your phone out, call a friend, go and have a talk and a cry and stop bothering me with your guilt. I have my own problems. And I am not a form of entertainment outside of my work hours. Are we clear?” 

“As crystal.” When she let him out, he added, “You are a lot like your father.” 

“Are you still here?” she demanded, channeling Jessica. He responded appropriately by skedaddling. 

Sagging against the wall, Phillipa felt torn between laughing and crying. That had been unnecessarily rude of her. But, by God, that man was so self-absorbed, it was amazing he was not a sponge! She did have problems of her own, and she worked hard to avoid them, so why did people always assume that meant she had the time to deal with their crap? 

“I take it he was an ass,” Loki said from in front of her. She did not even bother to open her eyes, simply reached out to pull him in close. 

“I don’t even want to think about it. I’m sure you can help with that.” 

“Demanding little creature,” Loki murmured, before smothering her lips with his own. 

When he let her breathe again, she retorted, “You know you love it. Oh, that son of a bitch! Damn! Damn, damn, damn.” 

“Are you finished?” 

“I may never be. That. . . that ass! Damn it. I never said no. Now I have to go to that party on Friday. Shit!” 

Chuckling, Loki suggested, “Or you could be. . . indisposed.” 

“Will you stop taking my clothes off? Just for a minute!” she said in response to his hurt look. “I didn’t say no, so now I have to, because everybody else is going to think I will be there. And Stark is an ass, but I can’t leave him alone with Ren. I like her, and I don’t want her to have to move the body on her own.” 

Now laughing outright, Loki agreed, “So, you will go. Very well. I expect you to make up the lost time on Saturday night, of course.” 

“After work. But you can come and watch me. You know it makes me. . . amenable to other things,” she hinted. 

“As if you are ever anything but,” he purred, sliding his hands under her shirt. 

“Ah! Naughty boy,” she scolded, even while arching her back to give him better access. 

“Stop complaining woman. I want your body, now.” 

Happily complying, Phillipa stripped down to her underwear. She relished the feel of his eyes on her, willing for now to ignore her worries. At least she would never have to worry about Loki. He was her heart, and they would always be one.


	42. So Much Party

Sighing once again, Phillipa turned to look at herself in the mirror. No matter which way she turned, she was displeased. There was no getting around it: this suit was awful. It might even be more awful than when she had been forced to purchase it two years ago. Did prints get uglier over time? 

“How long are you going to be in there?” demanded Loki. 

“I don’t know. How long do you think it will take for this suit to approach pretty from the far side?” 

Entering, Loki’s expression went from skeptical to amused. “What is that monstrosity?” 

“Thank you. I wanted to feel worse about this thing,” Phillipa said sarcastically. 

“Does this serve some important purpose that you would keep such an unsuitable garment?” he wanted to know, stalking around her. 

“It’s a swimsuit. You know, for swimming in?” 

He raised a brow. “I wear nothing.” 

“In front of everyone?” Phillipa asked in surprise. Not that he had any problem wandering around naked in front her, but it seemed unlike him to just- well, let it all hang out. 

“Ah, I see. You are wise, my own, to realize that I do not wish others to view what belongs to me.” 

“It’s not exactly like that,” she protested, letting him run his fingers over the suit’s borders. “I’m not comfortable being naked in front of everyone. Or pretty much anyone aside from you.” 

“Yes, I did notice that you persist in covering yourself. But, by the stars, this design does you no favors.” 

“I know that! It’s all I have.” Phillipa pulled away in irritation. 

He stopped her with a hand snaked around her waist. “Then allow me to assist with this conundrum, my own.” 

His hands slid over her front, tracing a new decolletage and sleeves. Under the path of his fingers, a golden light bloomed and her suit changed. Even though she gasped, Phillipa held herself totally still otherwise. Dipping down to her thighs, he changed the hem as well, easing the severity of the cut. Next, he brought his hands up over her belly and breasts and behind him the color and design on the fabric changed. Instead of dark blue with tiny white daises, it became black with a gold V-shaped panel in the front. The gold was textured in a herringbone pattern. Lastly, he added a zipper to the front, clearly for his own benefit as he slid it down to expose her cleavage. 

“Now then, my own, perhaps you might admire my handiwork before I ravish you?” 

“Oh, Loki, don’t do that,” she squeaked as he caressed her breasts. “I’ll have to wash the suit.” 

“Take it off, then,” he suggested, sliding a hand down between her thighs. “I want you, as I shall not have you but the once.” 

“The once this hour, you mean.” Still, Phillipa pulled the suit off for him, thinking that she might just stay home if Loki was in this sort of mood. 

She made it out in one slightly rumpled piece in time to catch the bus to Stark Tower. It was not all that far, but she appreciated the ability to sit for a few minutes. Uncertain of what to bring, she had found some potato chips, chocolate chip cookies and her bottle of blue juice for good measure. Hardly anyone liked blue juice aside from herself, so she at least knew she would have something to drink. Stark had hinted at salad, so she felt fairly certain of that for sustenance. 

Security waved her through. Hefting her shoulder bag, which also had a towel, the altered suit and sunscreen, Phillipa stepped into the elevator. She felt out of place in this clearly controlled business environment. The mirrors made it plain that her hair had no intention of behaving today, and her clothes were not business standard by any stretch of the imagination. 

A clear, British accent inquired, “Destination?” 

“Uh, the penthouse?” Phillipa squeaked. 

“Of course, Miss Coulson.” 

Even the elevator out-classes me, Phillipa thought in dismay. Still, she did her best to encourage her hair back into some semblance of smoothness. The clothes would simply have to do. At least her swimsuit was less embarrassing than it would have been. Clearly, Loki was looking for another round of gratitude. She was more than willing to oblige, later. 

“There she is,” Stark announced, pointing her out to Pepper and Rhodes. “I told you she would be the first one to get here.” 

“I get half of your cut,” Phillipa suggested. Rhodes grinned. 

“I tell you, Stark, I like this kid. Go on, give her twenty-five.” 

“Who did you have money on?” Phillipa had to ask, even as Stark fished around in his wallet for something smaller than a fifty. She was not going to take the cash; it was just fun to watch him wondering where his change was. 

“That one,” Rhodes said. “Story of my life, always coming in second place.” 

“Hello, Phillipa,” Steve greeted her cheerfully. 

“Hello.” Stark put something in her hand and she turned back to the billionaire. “I was kidding, you know.” 

The inventor shrugged. “Keep it. I’ll just spend it on hookers.” 

“That’s a cheap hooker,” Phillipa heard herself say. Pepper snorted. 

Slapping his friend on the back, Rhodes insisted, “She’s a keeper.” 

Someone pounced on Phillipa from behind. “She’s not yours! You can’t have her!” 

“Hi Lexi. Get off of me, Lexi.” 

“Oh hi, Phillipa! How are you doing?” 

“I seem to have gained about one hundred and ten pounds in the last ten seconds, but otherwise, I’m well, thank you for asking, Skye.” 

“Get down, runt!” Ren ordered. 

“Never!” 

“Come on, ladies, you’re holding up progress,” someone called from the back. 

Steve stepped in and quickly organized people, so that there was minimal bloodshed. With Pepper’s added help, the girls separated from the guys to change into their swimsuits. Phillipa would have thought they would eat first, but she supposed they could do that in their gear as well as out of it. Together with the other girls, she changed in one of three guest bedrooms. Well, almost all of the girls. 

“Where’s your swimsuit, Ren?” Lexi asked as she shimmied up her bandeau top. 

“I didn’t bring one.” Folding her arms in a manner that boded no good, Ren stated flatly. “I’m not swimming.” 

“It’s a pool party,” Phillipa felt obligated to point out. She was waiting to change until everyone else was done. 

“And that means, at some point, you should probably get in the pool,” Jessica added. She was already in an amazingly slinky bikini. Strangely, it had looked a good deal more modest before she had put it on. 

“I don’t want to. And,” in the smug manner of a girl laying down a full house, “I don’t have a suit.” 

Unfortunately, sometimes an opponent had four aces. Natasha laid hers out without expression. “Stark has a closet full. I’m sure he’ll lend you one.” 

“Why does he have-” Phillipa began, but Pepper, coming out of the bathroom in her stylish white suit, cut in, 

“Leftovers.” 

“Leftover what- Oh. Never mind. Oh, wow, Skye, you look amazing!” 

Indeed, Skye looked very sweet in her black and purple swimsuit with a sheer cutout and purple-black rose. The way the colors curved, plus the hemline’s less drastic cut was so classic and classy. With Skye’s naturally perfect hair, it just looked fantastic. 

Jemma looked very adorable in her strapless pink and white paisley suit. And Natasha was wearing a surprisingly sweet dark gray one piece with ruffles. Surrounded by a veritable army of cute girls in cuter bathing suits, Phillipa was starting to think that she might not make the cute- cut. 

Slipping into the bathroom at last, she pulled out the suit and looked at it. Well, it had to be better than blue daisy, at the very least. Stripping down, she caught sight of her hair and sighed. It would be nice to have one good hair day. Turning away from the mirror, she climbed into the suit and carefully zipped it up. Glancing back over her shoulder, she caught sight of her rear. Definitely better than the daisies. Loki deserved some serious gratitude for making her butt look so smooth. 

To her mild discomfort, everyone was waiting on her. Whistles of appreciation did not make it better. Crossing her arms over her chest, she objected, 

“It’s not that nice!” 

“It is so that nice,” Lexi insisted. “But what happened to the daisies?” 

“. . . They were ugly.” 

Jessica nodded. “Point taken. But where did you get that? You weren’t saving up for it, were you?” 

“Oh, um, no. L-Walter helped me.” 

“Oho! Pretty mild for a man,” Lexi pointed out. 

“Says the skimpiest girl here,” muttered Ren. 

Natasha pointed to the zipper. “That’s not mild. That goes all the way down the front, doesn’t it?” 

“Um, yes. But it makes it much easier to get into!” Her protests were drowned out by laughs from the other girls. 

Skye patted her shoulder. “It’s okay. You give a man the reins, he’s going to pick something sexy. And there’s nothing wrong with sexy.” 

“Wow!” was Stark’s comment when the girls came out. All the guys had pretty much the same pair of shorts on, in varying colors and patterns. Men, Phillipa decided, had it easy. 

“So, now that we are all properly attired, I suggest we rub on some sunscreen and head out to the pool- wait a minute. Something is not quite right with this picture.” 

Using his hands as a frame, Stark scrolled along the line of girls until he came to Ren. “As I suspected. That is not a swimsuit.” 

“I don’t have one,” growled Ren, arms folded. Phillipa leaned slightly back, in case she intended to leap at Stark and throttle him. Friends did not get underfoot. 

“Oh, well, I have a whole closet full. You know, there’s this orange-” 

“I’ll choose,” Pepper cut in. “Come on. He won’t let up unless you come out in a suit.” 

“I’d rather wear the Iron Man suit,” Phillipa heard Ren grumble as she followed the secretary. 

“So, who wants to get oiled up first?” Stark asked. The guys looked at each other behind him. Clearly having somehow drawn the short straw, Bruce volunteered, 

“Me.” 

“Well, that’s not what I expected,” said Stark nonplussed. 

“Oh, no,” said Lexi. “I’ll help!” 

“And that I did expect,” Stark admitted. Natasha caught the sunscreen bottle Clint tossed her and waved it at him. 

“We can handle ourselves, thank you.” There was a general wave of relief throughout the room. Apparently none of the assembled were very interested in rubbing sunblock over anyone else. 

“Ooo, can I handle little Phil?” Lexi wanted to know. 

“Knock yourself out,” Stark urged, but Jessica slipped an arm around Phillipa’s waist. 

“Oh, no you don’t. Phillipa is all mine.” 

Pouting, Lexi complained, “But she’s always all yours and you never do any more than her back! That’s hardly a show.” 

“I don’t want to be part of that kind of show,” Phillipa insisted. 

“Really, because that zipper says otherwise,” Stark noted, leaning forward to get a closer look. “Hey, is that a snake?” 

“HANDS OFF,” Ren ordered, coming out from the other room with a piece of black fabric in her hands and murder in her eyes. 

“I was just going to look at the zipper pull, I swear,” Stark said, hands in the air. 

Looking as though she did not believe it, Ren glared him down while Jessica pulled Phillipa outside. Once they were on the patio, Ren left for the guest room, presumably to change. Embarrassed, Phillipa took the bottle on sunscreen when Natasha offered it and started doing her arms. 

“Oh, he was right. I thought it was just a ring, but it’s a tiny snake, biting its tail. Way cute.” Having given her seal of approval, Jessica turned around. “Do my back?” 

“Sure.” Phillipa squeezed out a decent glob and started spreading the cream over Jessica’s pale back. “Um, Jessica, is the zipper really that indecent? It seemed more convenient to me.” 

Chuckling, Jessica reached back to pat her hand. “You are ever the innocent. Yes, it’s a racy zipper. But if you don’t think of it that way, then don’t worry about it. It’s the best swimsuit you’ve ever had. That Walter of yours has good taste.” 

Phillipa blushed. She was not about to share how it had come about. Jessica returned the favor, spreading the lotion over her back. Fishing about for something to say, she finally came up with, “I guess he knows what he likes.” 

“I’ll say,” Natasha agreed coolly. She inspected Phillipa more closely over her sunglasses. “It goes right to the very edge of decency, doesn’t it?” 

“I noticed that, too,” said Jessica. “Shows off her everything with out exposing anything. Well, unless that zipper doesn’t hold up.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Skye interrupted. “Don’t tease her, poor girl. It’s a great suit for you, Phillipa. Can I take a picture? For your scrapbook?” 

“All right,” Phillipa allowed, slightly pink from all the attention. “One with everybody?” 

“How about one of whoever we can catch!” suggested Lexi. 

“This sounds promising,” noted Natasha, moving to plot with the smaller woman. 

“Come on, Phillipa, say cheese!” 

Turning back to Skye, Phillipa tried to smile. This was already a lot to take in. How was she going to survive fourteen hours more? 

“Who’s up for water balloons?” Stark called from the other side of the pool. Like the good friend he was, Rhodes served him up immediately, splatting a huge red one right on the inventor’s chest. 

There were many pictures taken, Skye being armed and dangerous. Apparently, it was a hidden passion of hers. She even got a shot of Grant laughing at the expression on Stark’s face as he was smacked in the back with a water balloon. Not as comfortable with rough-housing, Phillipa mostly hid behind Jessica as the more muscular mutant pelted anyone who came within range. It meant she stood the risk of being the one who was caught by a balloon instead, but she was not about to throw any. 

In the interim, Ren and Pepper had slipped over to the ladies’ side, Ren in a startling black suit with deep cut-outs. She had kept on her smoked glasses and her perpetual grim expression. Not one to join in group activities whole-heartedly, she nevertheless accepted a balloon offered to her by Jemma and caught Stark a good blow to the rear. 

“See?” Jessica said, ducking a toss from Leo. “Your zipper is just fine. Come on, throw a balloon.” 

“No, thank you,” Phillipa demurred, dodging quickly to the left to avoid another of Lexi’s wild throws. 

“Come on, little Phil,” pleaded Lexi. “It’s no fun when you don’t fight back.” 

“And thus we have her sex life in a nutshell,” Jessica teased, smacking the little singer in the breast with a white balloon. 

“Just because you’re jealous of my much more exciting sexual habits,” Lexi panted. She picked up another balloon and fired it quickly at the other mutant. As usual, Jessica dodged, but this time it was Ren who was behind her. Jessica was much taller than Ren, so the balloon aimed for her chest hit Ren upside the head, knocking her glasses into the pool. 

“Oh, I’ll get those,” Phillipa volunteered immediately, jumping in. She knew that Ren was uncomfortable with other people seeing her without her glasses, even if they were close friends. 

“Lexi,” growled Ren. The smaller woman skipped behind Skye and peered with round eyes at the other mutant. 

“What?” she asked innocently as Phillipa fished for Ren’s glasses. 

“No head shots,” scolded Stark, coming around to their side. “At least now I can see your eye-aaaaaaaaaaaaahiiiiI need a drink. Does anyone else? Drinks?” 

Phillipa brought up the sunglasses and handed them up to Ren. Yanking them away with growled thanks, the mutant jammed them on her face. Red from probably both anger and humiliation, she snapped, 

“I do.” 

“Whoops,” Lexi whispered to Phillipa as she climbed out of the pool. 

“Bound to happen,” Jessica said with a shrug. “She needs to pay better attention to what’s going on around her.” 

“Yes, but it wasn’t exactly polite- the way Stark reacted, I mean,” Phillipa reminded the others. 

“What was the issue?” Skye asked, confused. “Doesn’t he know she’s a mutant?” 

“Probably,” Lexi said with a little sigh. “But normies aren’t used to us being, well, different. That wasn’t what I was expecting, though. I mean, her eyes are adorable.” 

“Cat eyes aren’t usual,” Steve said, offering towels all around. 

“That’s just scraping the surface of what’s usual for mutants,” Jessica informed him. 

“There are sort of, types of mutant,” Lexi said thoughtfully. “There’s people like Jessica, and me, who look totally normal and have powers. Then there’s people who look way different and also have powers. And in the middle are Ren and people like her, who have one or two little things that are unusual on the outside, and also powers. Pretty much no mutant has no powers- well, I guess unless you count Leech. He takes powers, but can’t use them. Oh, and Rogue, who borrows powers.” 

Steve sighed. “Yet another thing I don’t understand.” 

“Welcome to the real world,” Skye said, patting his muscular shoulder. “Pretty much nobody understands anything, we just pretend we do.” 

Phillipa laughed. “Thank goodness. I thought I was the only one.” 

“Hey, you people out there had better put in drink orders,” Stark called. “Otherwise, I think Ren is going to mix up all my liquor and drink it as a shot.” 

“Shut up! I’m making mimosas, you asshole!” 

“Well, she sounds better already,” Jessica trilled, winking at Lexi. “Go pick your poison.” 

“Aw, but she won’t give me whiskey,” mourned Lexi. 

“Have a mimosa; it won’t kill you. Well, not in the short term. Probably.” 

While the others went inside to collectively booze, Phillipa sat down on the edge of the pool and and dangled her feet in the water. She was not much of a swimmer, really. Instead of sinking, she tended to float. When she was little, it meant that she could pretty much follow her dad anywhere in the water, by dint of sheer willpower, if not actual graceful sculling. Slowly kicking her feet back and forth, she wondered what it would have been like to grow up with him there. Would she know how to swim? 

“Here,” offered someone. She turned to see Clint holding out a drink. 

“Oh, thanks, but I don’t drink.” 

“It’s non-alcoholic,” he assured her. “Just Sprite and orange juice.” 

“Sounds a little boring,” she said, and then blushed. What a nice thing to say to somebody who had thought of her. But he only laughed and pressed the glass into her hand. 

“Then let me put some booze in it. Then it’s interesting.” Clint patted her shoulder and added, “I noticed that you can’t swim.” 

Looking down at her glass, Phillipa said quietly, “My dad was going to teach me. I never really went swimming after he died, so. . .” 

“So you never learned,” Clint concluded. “Maybe a couple of things you can hold sacred to his memory, but he would be pretty pissed if you turned up drowned because you never learned to swim.” 

Phillipa shrugged. “I don’t really like water. Well, I mean, I drink it and all, but. . . I don’t know, swimming just doesn’t appeal.” 

“But you jumped right in to save face for your friend,” Clint pointed out. 

“Of course. She didn’t need that- that reaction of Stark’s.” 

The agent looked at her hard for a minute and then smiled. “Phil would be so proud of you, you know that? You have the makings of a great agent.” 

“Yes, because I know computers or biology, or engineering, or kicking ass so well,” Phillipa sarcastically responded, before taking a big gulp of her mimosa to cover her shame. Why so bitchy, she asked herself. He was trying to compliment her. 

Clint shook his head. “Those kids; they’re just starting out. But you know what really makes an agent? Caring about people. If you want to help someone- really want to help them stay safe and happy- you are already a better agent than someone who has all those skills put together.” 

“And where did you learn that?” Phillipa asked. 

Clint grinned. “From your dad.” 

Put firmly in her place, Phillipa looked out over the pool toward the city. Obviously she did not understand SHIELD any more than she understood nuclear physics. She had a vague notion of what the end result was, but no real grasp of how it got there. 

“Hey, don’t think I mind. You had a hell of a childhood, and we didn’t step in when we should have- which is to say at any time before now,” Clint clarified. “I don’t know everything you’ve been through, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be the same if it happened to me- but I do care. Your dad was my mentor and I respected him more than anyone else. I look at you, and I see him. We all do. But I see you, too.” 

“And what do you see?” she inquired, letting her legs start kicking gently again. 

Clint gave her a long once-over. “I see a girl who is happy in her relationship, even though it’s new and scary. And I see a girl who is ready to try being happy, and to try making herself happy, which she hasn’t done before. You’ve been getting by up until now, but you haven’t exactly been happy.” 

Looking away again, Phillipa sighed. “No, I don’t think I was. And as much as I would like to strangle Mr. Stark, I guess I should thank him instead.” 

“Nah, strangle him. Thanking him would only encourage him. Just imagine what he’ll give you next.”

“Ugh, no thank you. He already gave me a tablet. It will probably be useful once I figure out how to even turn it on.” 

“I can help with that,” Skye said, coming to sit beside Phillipa. “What kind is it?” 

Phillipa shrugged. “Small and silver?” 

“Oh, girl, you do need help.” 

“Well, I was busy,” Phillipa protested. “I have exercises to learn.” 

“And a boyfriend to play with,” teased Skye. On her other side, Clint laughed. 

“I bet he keeps you busy.” 

Blushing, Phillipa admitted, “He might take up a little of my time. Not that I exactly mind.” 

“Hey! I said no more of that!” scolded Stark. “Talk about your boyfriend later. Right now, we are drinking and swimming!” 

“I’m fairly certain that’s a bad idea,” Dr. Banner said, pausing to take a sip of his drink. Lexi helped him by tipping up the bottom of his glass. 

“Drink until it seems reasonable,” she suggested. 

“Now there is a brilliant mind,” Stark announced. “Bottom’s up!” 

“He’s had two already,” Natasha murmured to Clint as she slid into place beside him. 

“I’m not his babysitter,” Clint said. “He is not nearly cute enough.” 

Phillipa tilted her head. “I thought great agents were supposed to help people stay safe and happy.” 

“He’s happy,” Clint assured her. “That’s good enough for a party.” 

Stark was busy downing a third drink and digging around on a table. He came up, triumphant, with a remote in his hand. Pressing a few buttons, he told the group, 

“What a good party needs is some music!” 

“I’m not sure ‘Baby Got Back’ counts as music,” Natasha muttered. 

“Close enough,” Skye laughed. “But we could all escape to the far side of the pool!” 

“Ladies first,” Clint gallantly said. 

Phillipa walked to the other side, rather than struggle with her minimal understanding of the basic strokes. This allowed her to set up some shade, since everyone had to pause and splash the heck out of one another. By the time they arrived, she had a sizable area covered, and deck chairs set out for those who wanted to sunbathe. Natasha was among the latter group, and was joined by Clint, who agreed to help her put on the sunscreen she had forgotten earlier. Although Phillipa had her own suspicions, she opted to join everyone else, again with only her legs in the water. 

“Little Phil never swims,” Lexi explained to Steve, who had tried to entice her into the water. 

“I float, and that about covers it,” Phillipa sighed. 

“It’s a big pool. We could teach you,” suggested Dr. Banner. 

“Somehow the idea of several drunk people trying to teach one innocent girl to swim appalls me,” Jessica noted. “No, she’s fine where and as she is. Actually, she’s perfectly positioned to toss diving rings. Here.” 

So Phillipa threw rings for a while, not completely bored since Stark and Rhodes absolutely had to use the diving board to make the biggest splashes possible. After that, she took a turn in the sun, but only to peek out at the skyline and listen to the wind over the deep thumping bass. It was amazing, realizing that Stark’s playlist seemed to contain only every song about sexy women ever written. 

Lexi brought out her games, of which she had a nearly endless supply. Apparently this made her Ward’s best friend, considering how excited he became over something called Settlers of Cattan. Cajoling Skye, Jemma and Leo, he sat down right where Lexi handed him the game. For a while, Phillipa watched Skye cheerfully kicking Ward’s backside to Timbuktu. At least he took his defeat with some grace. 

Then she ended up playing bridge as Steve’s partner as they faced off against Banner and Lexi- who seemed to understand every single move of the game. After four rounds of that, her head was about to explode. Even if it had been interesting to play, she was in way over her head. She left them discussing various tricks, and joined Jemma and Natasha in talking about flowers, a much safer subject. Flowers, she knew about. 

Clint had dozed off, and Natasha excused him by saying he had had a late night. Doing what, Phillipa decided not to ask. She had been up later than she meant to be herself, but Loki had very persuasive arguments against sleeping. Funny, she thought, looking at the clock, but she had thought of him almost every hour on the hour. And it was still only four in the afternoon. Too bad he had not wanted to come. She could use a snuggle right about now. 

“Here we go,” Lexi said, plopping down a card game in their midst. “This is just the right amount of people.” 

“Poo?” asked Natasha, eyeing the pack with deep distrust. 

“It’s hilarious. You’re a monkey and-” 

“I think I know where this is going,” Clint murmured. “You fling poo at the other players, right?” 

“Got it in one. But it gets better, because you can wash off poo and there are event cards- really, you have to try it.” 

Clint, Steve and Banner all exchanged looks. Then as one, they gave in. Sitting in between the girls, they formed a ragged circle. Although not certain she wanted to join, Phillipa was dealt in regardless. As it happened, it was quite a bit of fun. 

“Where do you get all these games?” Dr. Banner asked. “That’s the fourth one you’ve brought out.” 

“Oh, my parents are loaded. They’re always buying me stuff, so I told them to just buy me games, and then I can play with my friends. A person can only have so many ponies before it gets boring. But new games are always fun.” 

“How many ponies do you have?” questioned Steve, laying down Montezuma’s Revenge against Jemma. 

“Three. But I board them at a stable where they let special needs kids ride them. I don’t ride them- I don’t even know how to. See, my dad is a little bit vague on details, so I got a pony, but not riding lessons. Then my mom has to outdo my dad, so she got me another pony. And then my first pony and my second pony got together in the corral and had a baby. Talk about an education. So, I have three ponies and they are an adorable little pony family.” 

In the ringing silence that followed, there was only one question to be asked. Everyone looked around to see who was going to ask. Finally, Jemma as she Shared the Love with Steve, put forth the enquiry, 

“What are their names?” 

“Mario, Luigi and Princess Peach, of course.” 

Both Banner and Clint put their heads in their hands, but Phillipa was quick with the now more-important question, “Which one is which?” 

“Oh, Luigi was my first pony and Mario was my second, and Princess Peach is their baby.” As the group gave her shocked, incredulous or downright horrified looks, Lexi explained, “I just named them for the characters I liked best. I didn’t figure out that they had genders until way later. Like, the whole next year.” 

“And you were ten,” Jessica finished for her, leaning over the smaller girl. “Ladies and Gents, there are burgers, chips, cookies and all kinds of terrible for us things waiting to be eaten. Oh, and there’s a nice big salad for you, too, Miss Coulson.” 

Tallying up their poo counters, it was deemed that Steve was the winner by one poo. Phillipa had long ago been, apparently, smothered. Clint had also been coated in too much poo to move, but had gone out in a blaze of glory, most of which he directed cheekily at Natasha, who found herself equally covered. They had been spectators, delivering snarky commentary whenever appropriate. For her part, Phillipa just watched and wondered if Loki would find this too low-class. It could be fun to play, just the two of them. 

She joined the line for food, in spite of the fact that there was only one item on the table that held any interest for her. Supposedly, this was her party. She had to show willing. 

Everyone also hit up the bar, which Ren was continuing to man- or mutant. She had a genius for mixology, they were all in agreement. But it was Natasha who crooked a finger at Phillipa when she had finished her salad, beckoning her up to the bar. 

“You can’t not drink,” Natasha pointed out. 

“Um,” Phillipa made the attempt to protest. It failed miserably, since the redhead was not listening. 

“Now, I know you like vegetables. Vodka- made from potatoes,” she said, offering a small shot glass. 

“I just drink it?” Phillipa asked, suspiciously. 

“Exactly. But wait a minute.” She poured herself a shot and they clinked glasses. 

Trapped, Phillipa did the shot. She made a face as it burned its way down her throat. What was the point of this? Smartly, she took a large gulp of her mint water. 

“That’s awful,” she choked. “As in, really, truly awful.” 

“It wasn’t as smooth as I hoped,” Natasha agreed. She rummaged around behind the bar, looking for more bottles. As she uncorked the various ones, Phillipa’s nose was assaulted by varying degrees of alcohol. Then, there was a different scent, something almost pleasant. 

“What is that?” 

Natasha shook a bottle. “This? Tequila. Not for first time drinkers.” 

“Oh. It just smells. . . nice, I guess.” 

Arching an eyebrow, Natasha took her shot glass and filled it half full. “All right, you try it, then.” 

As instructed, Phillipa downed the shot. It still burned, but this was much more pleasant in flavor. She looked at Natasha, who was watching her expectantly. 

“I like it.” 

“Then I guess you need another shot. Or, I could make you a margarita.” 

“What’s in it?” 

“Lime or strawberry, it looks like,” the redhead said, looking under the bar at the mixers. 

“No,” Phillipa decided. “Just the shots.” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa- Whoa,” Stark repeated, grabbing the edge of the counter to steady himself. “What are you doing with booze?” 

“Drinking it?” supplied Phillipa, taking her second shot of tequila. 

“Hey, cool,” he said blearily. “What kind of drink do you wa- Wait, your mom was an alcoholic! Natasha, this is very insensisisi- very unkind of you!” 

“Give me another shot,” Phillipa said, looking at the clearly blitzed billionaire. “I’m not fuzzy enough to handle this.” 

“Sure.” Natasha poured her another shot, and one for herself as well. Again, they clinked glasses and downed the alcohol. This time it was Natasha who made a face. 

“Straight from the cactus and still tastes like one.” 

“I’ll have you know, the Mexican ambassador to the UN gave that to me,” Stark informed her, still holding on to the bar to keep himself upright. “That’s prime stuff. If you like tequila.” 

“I don’t.” Natasha handed Phillipa the tequila bottle and picked out a bottle of vodka for herself. “Besides, shots are only good for getting drunk quickly.” 

Seeing that this was a conversation that could take awhile, Phillipa slipped away. She did feel a little fuzzy about the edges, but also as if everything was in sharp focus. And she was easily amused, suddenly. This was fun. 

“Whoa, is that a bottle?” Jessica asked, turning from her conversation with Ren to eye Phillipa suspiciously. 

“It’s full of tequila,” Phillipa announced, and giggled. 

“And how much tequila made your acquaintance tonight?” asked Jessica. 

“Some.” Phillipa looked at the bottle, thought about her shot glass, and took a swig. “And some more.” 

“Okay, if you are drinking, I am finding you a designated driver,” the older girl said. “You and that bottle look far too cozy. Do you have a non-alcoholic beverage?” 

“A what? I had some mint water, but it grew legs. Hee-hee.” 

Now Ren was giving her an incredulous look. “And who gave you that bottle?” 

“Nat.” Unable to help herself, Phillipa added, “She has a bottle too, so it’s fair.” 

“Is Nat drinking?” Clint asked as he passed by. Then he did a double take. “Are you drinking?” 

“It doesn’t have a lid. And it would be lonely,” Phillipa decided. 

Making an executive decision, Clint directed the girls, “All right, someone sit her down before she slides down. Who gives a first time drinker tequila?” 

“Hey, if she’s drinking, I’m drinking,” Ren argued with Jessica. 

“All right! Go get a drink. But someone has to call you guys a cab!” 

“I can call a cab!” announced Lexi at the top of her lungs. 

Jessica winced. “Christ. Is anyone not drunk?” 

“What?” said Stark, loudly. Startled, Phillipa called, 

“What?” 

This started off a chorus around the room, followed by drunken giggles and further calls. The sober people were easily identified by the expression on their faces. Mixed with resignation, irritation was the key component. Sighing, Jessica handed Phillipa a glass full of mint water. 

“No more shots until you finish that, young lady.” 

“Aw, okay,” Phillipa whined. “But I like it. And it likes me too.” 

“Sounds like Walter has competition.” 

Snorting, Phillipa chugged the mint water. “No way. This bottle hasn’t got a dick.” 

“Wow. You are a very interesting drunk, young lady. On the other hand, it’s probably good that your young man isn’t here.” 

“He’s not my young man,” Phillipa told her. “I’m his. Totally different. Also, sexier.” 

“OMG, Rock Band!” Lexi squealed. “Let’s do it! Of course, Phillipa is the singer.” 

“What?” asked Phillipa, not quite following. She set off another drunken chorus. Giggling, she finished her mint water and took another shot. This was fun!


	43. The Tequila Incident

“Agent Ward?” Coulson asked, pretending not to have been waiting on this call for thirty minutes. May had already told him to stop pacing before she killed him, none too gently. Being a kind individual, she had offered to go a few rounds on the mats with him to take the edge off, but he had declined. She had taken her bottle of brandy from Phillipa and gone inside her sleeping pod instead. 

“Yes, sir,” he could hear his agent say faintly through the blast of party noise. 

“Anything to report?” 

“No,” he heard Grant try to say, and then in what he hoped was an aside, “Stop pawing me, I’m not going to play the drums!” 

“But you’d be good at it, and we need a drummer because Banner says he’ll eat the drumsticks. Come on, you played Guess Who and Clue and Battleship and Connect Four and Monopoly and everything. You even played Candyland.” 

“Lexi, I have no interest in-” 

“Little Phil, Agent Ward won’t play drumsies!” 

Phil heard his daughter bellow, “What?” followed by a seriously horrifying chorus of catcalls throughout the room. 

“Son of a-” Agent Ward pulled himself together enough to tell the gathering, “I’m on the phone, okay?” 

“Your lily white ass gets on the stool when you finish that call,” Phillipa threatened. “For now, DEATH METAL.” 

“Is. . . is my daughter intoxicated?” Phil demanded incredulously. 

“And how,” Grant said, obviously heading away from the noise. Somewhere in the background, Phil could hear Phillipa belting out something about bodies hitting the floor. 

“What has she been drinking? Who gave her drinks in the first place?” 

“Um, Agent Romanoff, sir.” 

“Agent- wait, really?” 

“Yes sir. Apparently she gave her a shot of vodka, but Phillipa didn’t like that, so she let her try tequila. Now she has the bottle and won’t let go.” 

“Tequila? That was my first drink, too.” Remembering with sudden clarity his first experience, Phil added sternly, “You have to get that bottle away from her.” 

There was silence on the other end for a moment. “Have you ever heard the shriek a baby gives when you take away a favorite toy?” 

“Of course.” 

“Well, imagine that done by an adult. It is not an experience I would like to repeat, sir.” 

Having some experience in this arena, albeit some nearly seventeen years ago now, Coulson advised, “Swap her bottle for another drink. She brought her blue juice, didn’t she?” 

“How did you know-” 

“Good. Give her that and put the bottle back under the bar. She probably won’t go looking for it again. Now, who else is intoxicated?” 

“It’d be shorter to tell you who isn’t.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Myself, Miss Potts, Mr. Rogers, Dr. Banner and Agent Barton.” 

Surprised by one notable lack, Phil inquired, “Jemma is drinking?” 

He heard Agent Ward fumbling with a doorknob. “Actually, I haven’t seen her or Leo for a bit-” 

After a very long silence on the other end and the sound of a door shutting, Coulson felt the need to say, “Agent Ward?” 

“Um. That’s about all, sir.” 

Amazing how a blush could go straight through the phone. “See something, Agent Ward?” 

“No, sir, I absolutely did not see anything that I was not expecting sooner or later but nevertheless did not want to see. At all. Ever.” 

“Sure you didn’t. We’ll talk about it back at the office tomorrow morning. Bright and early, Agent Ward. And make sure my daughter doesn’t do anything she might regret tomorrow.” 

“But how do I-” 

Rudely, Phil ended the call. If Grant could not figure that one out, he might as well quit being an agent. There were limits. 

So, his baby girl was having her first drink? At least she was among friends, in a safe place. Normally, he would not consider any area within a mile of Stark harmless, but with Steve there it was quite secure. There was a lot to be said for a gentleman. If he could not be there to watch over his little girl, at least he could be assured that nothing untoward was going to happen. 

Damn. Now he wanted a drink. Not tequila, though. Once had been enough.


	44. So That's What it Does

Silly Grant, Phillipa thought as she reached under the bar. Hiding the bottle back where it belonged was something that worked on toddlers, not deviously intelligent young women. Grasping it in victory, Phillipa grinned to herself. Tequila! Wait, was that a song? Something, something, “Hey, Tequila!” 

Stepping over Natasha, who was humming to herself on the floor behind the bar, Phillipa returned to count heads. Jessica had left a little while ago, on a hot date, so Lexi claimed. With who- whom? With whatever. Agent Ward had taken Skye home, too. That was sad. Phillipa liked Skye. 

“Oops,” Phillipa said as she bumped into Steve. “Sorry.” 

“I’m pretty sure Agent Ward took that from you,” Steve said, pointing to the bottle. 

“Yep.” She giggled. “And I got it back.” 

The soldier looked at her curiously. “And you like that stuff? Everyone else said tequila is pretty rough.” 

“I do like it. And it likes me.” After taking a swig, Phillipa felt the need to add, “I think I’ve said that.” 

Nodding, Steve offered her a seat on the couch. “A few times. How about another mint water?” 

“Yes, please. It can keep the tequila company in my tummy.” 

Lexi plopped down on the couch next to her. “Phillipa, let’s leave Jessica a drunken voicemail!” 

“A what?” 

“What?” Stark shouted across the room. 

“What?” Rhodes called from the terrace. 

“What?” asked Natasha, looking up from the floor. 

Before Phillipa could set off another round, Clint put a hand over her mouth gently. “That’s about enough of that, thank you.” 

“I was just asking a question,” Phillipa pouted. Then she giggled. The last time she had pouted was for Loki. He was so very naughty, teasing her all the time. 

“Who gave you the bottle again?” the marksman asked. 

“I did,” she told him smugly. “Wait, Lexi was saying something. What was it? About drunken somethings?” 

Lexi slid over until her head was on the armrest and her feet were in Phillipa’s lap. “A drunken voicemail for Jessica. So she knows that we’re having lots and lots of fun. We could- we could sing her a song.” 

“Oh,” breathed Phillipa. “We can sing her ‘Domino!’ That would be purple- perfect.” 

Clint gave them an incredulous look. “You can’t even tell the difference between purple and perfect. How are you going to sing a whole song?” 

Puffing up in indignation, Phillipa told him. “I can sing that song backwards. I hear it all the time at work.” 

“Sing it!” demanded Lexi. 

“I’m feeling sexy and free,” belted out Phillipa at once. “Like glitter’s raining on me. You’re like a shot of pure gold. I think I’m ‘bout to explode. I can taste the tension like a cloud of smoke in the air. Now I’m breathing like I’m running ’cause you’re taking me there. Don’t you know? You spin me outta control!” 

“Damn, she’s good,” Stark announced. “That’s gotta be six shots in, mind you.” 

Clint was actually staring. “How do you do that?” 

Shrugging and taking a good-sized swig, Phillipa thought up a perfect answer. “I just do it.” 

“Here, Phillipa. Get some of this in you before you have any more tequila, please.” Steve handed Phillipa another mint water. She smiled and gulped it down. It really did go quite well with the tequila. She had a thought. 

“Hey, science peoples. If alcohol sort of sits on top of water, how come you can mix drinks and they are all the same color? You know, like all red or brown and colors like that?” 

“That’s fluid dynamics and density,” Stark said and belched. “Where’s Banner?” 

“He is making friends with the toilet,” Lexi supplied. “Sounds like a long-term relationship to me.” 

“Ooo,” hissed Stark in sympathy. “I thought he hardly had anything.” 

Ren, leaning on the doorframe to the patio as though she would not be able to stand without it, told him, “Six shots of brandy is not hardly anything to most people. You’re inhuman.” 

“Says the woman with golden cat eyes.” 

“Whoa, hey, none of that,” Natasha said, rolling over onto her back. “I don’t want any blood on me, genius.” 

“Genius, billionaire, playboy phil- philanderer.” Stark paused. “That seems wrong.” 

“Sounds right me,” Ren snapped. 

“You know, you can let go of the door. The place actually stands on its own.” 

“Don’t be an ass!” 

“Don’t you be an ass!” 

Phillipa stood up, a little unsteadily. “Look, you two, it’d be nicer if you just got it over with already. Everybody’s waiting for you two to kiss and make out- up.” 

“I vote for the first one!” Natasha called from the floor. 

“I second the motion,” Rhodes said, raising his glass. 

“Not going to happen,” snarled Ren. Phillipa took her by the arm gently and dragged her along the hallway. She pushed her into the guest bedroom and shut the door behind her. 

“Listen for a minute, because I am just drunk enough to say this out loud. Everybody knows that you like Stark and he likes you. Yep, he’s an ass and a jerk and a self-satisfied pig to boot. But he’s also a nice guy who likes you. Give the poor man some sex already.” 

“What-” 

“Shh, forbidden word!” Phillipa looked out into the hallway for Clint, but he was not in view. “Safe.” 

“Phillipa, that’s just crazy talk. I don’t want to have sex with Stark!” 

Trying to raise one eyebrow, but ending up with both sky high, Phillipa said, cleverly, “Really?” 

“He’s a stubborn, conceited, arrogant, handsome, intelligent, sexy- shit!” Ren sighed. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He saw my eyes and he freaked out. What can I do about that?” 

“Take off your shirt,” suggested the tequila through Phillipa’s mouth. 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“So take off your pants too,” the tequila advised. 

Ren stared. “You are so drunk.” 

“Yep,” Phillipa happily agreed. “Look, go do some shots with Stark if you’re not going to sleep with him. That’ll make him happy.” 

Grumbling, Ren submitted to the inevitable. “I’m probably the only one who can keep up with him anyway.” 

On their way back, Phillipa paused to look outside. It seemed nice out there; not too hot or too cold, and twilight was well past. But the party was inside, so she would be too. 

“Drunken voicemail!” Lexi insisted. Everyone seemed to agree this was acceptable, so she dialed Jessica on her phone while the remnants of the party clustered around. 

Possibly the best part, aside from each singer having a different idea of what song they were using, was Jessica actually answering the call, and shouting, “Stop that! Damn it, Lexi. What have I said about drunken phone calls? God, I can feel the fumes through the phone! Someone take her home already!” 

Although the party did not break up completely, Clint decided then to take Natasha home, and offered a lift to the very sad Dr. Banner as well. Taking advantage of his state, Lexi gave the doctor a kiss goodnight. It was more platonic that Phillipa was expecting. Although that probably had something to do with the fact that Stark was shouting, 

“Slip him some tongue!” Lexi was never one to give in to demands. 

Rhodes left, too, for a guest bedroom. That left only Phillipa, Steve, Lexi, Stark and Ren in the main room. Doing a mental check, Phillipa was fairly sure that Jemma and Leo must have gone home as well, since she had not seen them for a few hours now. This was almost a small enough party for Loki. Too bad he would not be joining them. She missed him. 

Steve, ever the gentleman, was making sure everyone had water or juice. After a sweep of the room for stray glasses and plates, Phillipa started wondering where her blue juice had gone. Putting that question aside for a moment, she put away the controllers for Rock Band, so that no one died trying to walk in front of the big screen TV. At least, not again, since Stark had nearly impaled himself twice wandering through. 

“Have you seen my blue juice?” Phillipa asked Steve, the most upright person left. 

“Your- oh, yeah.” Turning, Steve opened the refrigerator. “I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem like it should be left out.” 

“Yay for you!” 

“Listen, I’m going to call a cab to take Lexi and Ren home. So be ready in fifteen minutes, okay?” 

“Right,” Phillipa said. Then it suddenly became very clear that she needed the bathroom. Wandering in that direction, she paused to tickle Lexi, who moaned and waved her hands feebly in the air. That was no fun. 

Stumbling a bit, Phillipa made her way down the hall toward the guest bedrooms. She was glad that she remembered the way, having come by twice. At least, she thought muzzily, her pants had an elastic waistband, because she was still wearing her swimsuit. She did not know why, only that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Obviously, the tequila knew what it was doing. 

“Oh, hi,” she said to Jemma and Leo. “I thought you went home already.” 

“Yes, well,” Leo looked at Jemma, who helpfully added, 

“We were talking.” 

“That’s a lot of talking,” Phillipa noted. “Must have been important.” 

“Yes, very,” Jemma said. 

“Urgent, you might say,” Leo added. 

Considering this, Phillipa queried, “Got it all sorted out, though?” 

“Definitely.” 

Jemma nodded. “Completely.” 

“That’s good. Oh yeah, I need the bathroom. ’Scuze me.” 

Once she was safely able to relieve herself, Phillipa had a sudden revelation. Wow, Jemma and Leo? Well, she had known they were a couple, but doing it at somebody else’s place was. . . kind of sexy, the tequila insisted. Just imagine if someone walked in, though, she tried to scold the booze. Yeah, just imagine, the tequila repeated. Agent Ward had been pretty red in the face when he came back to play the drums, and he had not had any drinks. 

Very thoughtful, Phillipa stood up a little bit too quickly. After the rush, she pulled herself together and fumbled with her clothing for a bit. The zipper, she decided, was not the best thing ever. But she was going to keep wearing the suit because the tequila still insisted it was nice. Grabbing her blue juice, Phillipa headed out of the bedroom and back down the hallway. 

Before she got very far, she realized that Ren and Stark were arguing again. She paused, and watched them appear at the end of the hall. They stood in the doorway to Stark’s room, bickering and oblivious to her presence. Since the tequila wanted to hear, Phillipa decided to wait them out. 

“You are such a narrow-minded bastard,” Ren was saying. “You seriously believe that mutants should have to register their status?” 

“Since they are a threat to the main population, yes, I do.” 

“Really? And wasn’t that what Hitler said about the Jews? Look how well that turned out for them. There still aren’t that many living in Europe any more.” 

Swaying slightly, Stark nevertheless kept up his position. “But the Jews were just an imagined danger. They couldn’t actually tear walls apart or control people’s minds, or, or- what is it you do?” 

Ren glared and took off her glasses. “I see what’s really there. And mutants can’t use their powers on me. So, if you try to lie, I see it. Oh, and I’ve got cat eyes. That’s what you find so dangerous.” 

“It wasn’t necess-nece-ne- it wasn’t exactly about you. Not just you. But, yeah, those are kind of creeping me out.” 

“This is who I am, playboy!” snapped Ren, and the tequila agreed with her vehemence. “You can take it or leave it.” 

“But if you took the cure, _you_ could leave it- them.” 

“ _If_ it doesn’t kill me, _if_ it doesn’t alter my genetic code in an entirely new fashion and _if I did not love myself as I am_.” 

“Well, I love myself as I am,” Stark pointed out, waving a finger in a figure eight. “But everybody keeps telling me I should change.” 

“You arrogant, pig-headed, selfish _bastard_. You just can’t lose, can you? You are so stubborn!” 

“And what are you?” Stark shot back. Not the best comeback, but the tequila gave him a grudging six. 

“At least I’m not a complete asshole!” 

“Oh, and what are you going to do about that?” 

“What are _you_ going to do about it?” Ren countered. 

In answer, Stark grabbed her face and mashed his lips against hers. It was clearly what Ren had been waiting for. She grabbed his ass and pulled him into the bedroom. One of them kicked the door shut behind them. 

“Question answered,” Phillipa said, and then pouted. Everybody was having sex but her. Even Natasha and Clint were together, probably doing it right now. As Natasha had confided in her earlier, when she had started hanging out on the floor, 

“It’s like this- he’s got a penis. I want one. Why not?” 

Apparently Clint was just fine with this philosophy. Phillipa was kind of surprised. He had seemed more the romantic type. But then, Natasha certainly was not. So, maybe that was what she called it, and he had his own terms for it. Hopefully they were on the same page. 

She stumbled her way back to main room, only to find it empty. Where was everyone? My God, were they all having sex? Lexi and Steve? No way! Wait, before she got carried away, she should look carefully. 

Knowing that Rhodes was passed out in the far guest bedroom, Ren and Stark were occupied in the master bedroom and the other guest bedroom was empty, Phillipa traced a determined, if wobbly, path through the various areas. She ended up out on the patio, with no one in sight. Sighing, and suddenly exhausted, she found a bench and sat down with her blue juice. This was no fun! What time was it? 

“You are late,” scolded a familiar voice. Bleary, Phillipa squinted up at Loki. It took a moment, and then she reached up. 

“I missed you,” she whined. “And everybody is having sex except for me!” 

“I doubt every-” There was a very loud moan from indoors and Loki stopped mid-sentence. 

Phillipa gave him a knowing look. “You see? And you know what’s worse?” 

“What could be worse?” he asked, settling himself beside her. 

“I’m too tired to have any sex. It’s just awful.” Phillipa waved her bottle despondently. 

Loki eyed it with disapproval. “Is this what you have been guzzling all night?” 

“What? Oh, no. This is my blue juice. I should maybe drink it, I guess.” 

Deftly, Loki swiped the bottle from her hand and examined it. “Blue juice?” 

“Yes. Daddy used to give it to me whenever I got hurt. He said it would make me all better. And you know what? It did.” 

Face devoid of expression, Loki twisted the cap off for her and suggested, “Perhaps you should drink some now.” 

Obediently, Phillipa drained the bottle. Then she snuggled against him with a happy sigh. The tequila had finally quieted down a bit, and she could do her own thinking. 

“What did you do while I was so busy missing you?” she asked him. He smiled, not a smirk, but a real grin, full of affection. 

“I played a game or two. And I made you something new.” 

“But I haven’t given you anything, yet,” she protested. “Not even sex.” 

“That, my own, I intend to change very shortly.” Loki snaked his hand over her breasts. “But I do not require payment for all that I choose to gift you.” 

“I know,” she sighed. “But I want to give you something. I feel like I haven’t got anything.” 

“Your heart will suit me admirably,” he insisted, resting his hand over it. 

“Just my heart?” she insinuated, letting her own hand do some naughty wandering. 

“Here?” he asked in surprise. Another loud moan from inside and the remainder of the tequila decided her. 

“Now,” she insisted, reaching up to pull down her zipper. 

As many people had previously told her, no man was willing to hold back from such an open invitation. Hesitant, perhaps, but never unwilling to acquiesce. Proving this theory correct, Loki took her bare breasts out of the suit, exposing them to the cool night air. Kissing her as he caressed them tenderly, he made certain she could pull out his penis without trouble. 

“You enjoyed your new suit?” he questioned when they came up for breath. 

“Yes,” she panted. “But now I want you to take it off. Strip me, master. Use me. Please, master, I’m so hot.” 

“Is it master tonight, then?” Loki pulled her to her feet and yanked down her pants. “So naughtily attired, and yet you wish me to be your master? Turn around.” 

Knowing what was likely to be coming, Phillipa turned and stuck out her backside. He ran his hand down her back and over her ass slowly. Then, with the kind of calm deliberate movements that drove her mad, he pulled the suit up and into her crack, exposing her asscheeks to his hungry eyes. She shivered, breasts visible to anyone who looked out the door. Although the tequila still persisted in believing that could be sexy, she was starting to wonder if here was the best place. 

Lips caressing her shoulder, Loki murmured something in the strange language he swore was magic. The doorway and windows shimmered gold for a brief moment. When she turned her head to look into his devilish blue eyes, he informed her, 

“Just making certain no one interrupts your well-deserved punishment, my little slut.” 

With that, he slammed his hand down over her right ass cheek. Gasping, she rocked forward, and then hurriedly brought herself back into position. Clucking his tongue in disappointment, Loki delivered a stinging slap to her other cheek. 

“Just a little time between training sessions, and see how much you have lost.”

“Forgive me, master,” Phillipa pleaded. 

“Not a chance.” Two further blows followed and she arched her back in response. “Dirty girls like you must not be given an inch. Look how you ache already.” 

“Yes, master,” she breathed, and gasped as he gave her still more smacks. “Punish this naughty girl. Make me yours.” 

In reply, he bit down on her shoulder, bringing a deep moan to her lips. It felt so good to be owned in this fashion. Even his hand under her breasts, so strong, aroused her passion. If all he did was hold her, she knew she would end up orgasming from his touch. 

He was not letting her off so easily, however. First he pulled her suit down so that it hung on her thighs, completely uncovering her bottom. He stepped back and she heard the clink of metal. Not allowed by command to look back, she could only imagine that he was stripping. So soon? 

Then a new blow brought her attention to what he had actually been doing. He wore several belts, and one of them was now pounding her ass. It had not occurred to her previously that he could take those off. But this one was certainly being put to good use. Already her ass was tingling and burning from all the attention. Severe and unrelenting, the slap of leather also made a very erotic sound for her to savor. 

Briefly, he paused, and she could hear the ragged edge to his breath. He loved this too. Then he bent over her, slipping the belt between her legs. Shocked at the feeling of the leather, she nevertheless had to relish the way he rubbed it against her very wet slit. 

“Ah!” she gasped when the metal end slid between her lips. That was so- so arousing, more than she could have guessed. 

“Do you like that, you dirty slut?” he panted in her ear. 

“Oh, yes master!” 

“Good girl,” Loki breathed, and then ordered, “Put your hands here, behind your back.” 

Complying, Phillipa still moaned loudly when he pulled the belt from between her legs. Swift as ever, Loki bound her hands with his belt, holding her totally captive. Another, thinner belt was looped around her breasts, framing them for his enjoyment. He tested her abilities, sucking and biting at her nipples as he worked. Trembling, she waited for the order to release her building pleasure. 

At last, he tore off the suit completely, having her bend over while facing the bench. His clothes joined her suit, and he sat down in front of her, stroking his penis with an arrogant grin. With one hand, he pushed her head down. 

“Suck it.” 

She did her best, although she was not sure of her balance. Concentrating hard, she took her time. Using her lips to caress every inch that she could reach, she made certain to look up at him whenever possible. He liked to watch her, and she loved to see him throw his head back in desire. 

Now she brought her tongue into play, licking at the head insistently. She wanted him to enjoy this, to reward her slutty ways. Bending her knees, she sucked in one of his balls, rolling it gently inside of her mouth. 

“Fuck! Yes, you filthy girl. Taste me!” 

Eyes on his face, she slid her tongue directly up the middle of his cock, paying special attention to the line where his penis’s head began. His hips bucked upward and she smiled at his obvious enjoyment. Then, to appease him, she took the whole cap into her mouth. Her tongue swirled and rubbed. As his breathing grew harsh, Phillipa started to bob over his penis. She worked hard to take in as much as possible, trying to relax her throat to take in ever more. 

His hands tangled in her hair and he pulled hard. Obedient to his unspoken demand, she released his cock with a gasp. He was so rough tonight! 

“By the stars, I could fuck you here and now,” Loki growled. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, master, take me.” 

“Bad girls do not get to decide,” he said, and pulled her so that her belly was over his lap. She could feel his cock rubbing against her as he arranged her body to please him. 

Once he felt her in position, Loki was swift to return to spanking her ass. His hand added a new layer of warmth to her already tender rear. Each stinging slap was followed with another, making her dizzy trying to keep up with his attentions. As best she could, Phillipa held still, but she was losing control. She wanted so badly to orgasm, and his touch was pushing her to the very edge. Finally, she had to beg, 

“Please, master, I am going to cum if you don’t stop. Tell me I may- oh, please!” 

Instead, Loki pulled her to her feet and stepped behind her. Wobbling slightly, she was reassured by his strong hands on her waist. She could feel his cock sliding between her legs and suddenly Phillipa was aware that tonight she might lose her virginity at last. The very thought sent her already stretched nerves into a frenzy. She wanted to savor the moment, but how could she? 

“Steady,” he commanded, but gently. “I am not going to fuck you, my little slut. But your body is going to please me.” 

That said, his penis pressed against her clitoris. Phillipa realized that Loki was using her body the way he had the other day, rubbing his penis between her nether lips. Although frustrated with longing for him, she submitted to his will. If he wanted this, she would do her best to pleasure him. 

“There you are,” he purred, as she threw back her head and stuck out her chest. “You love it.” 

“Yes, master. Oh, yes. Oh, I love you,” she blurted, caught up in desperate need. 

Passionately, he kissed her as he thrust his cock harder and harder. “You love this, you mean, slutty girl.” 

“Yes, I love it. Oh, don’t stop, master. Use me to make yourself cum!” 

“Fuck,” he growled. “Fuck, I love your slutty body. You are so wet for me.” 

Phillipa felt her climax beginning and groaned, “Tell me I may, master. Please, may I now?” 

“Cum for me,” he ordered. “Cum all over my cock. Cover it in your desire.” 

Thus enjoined, Phillipa had to obey. She hardly felt his lips brushing her cheek as she arched her back farther still. Up on her toes, she felt as though her whole body was going to explode in release. Between her legs, the feel of his cock passing faster and faster by her clitoris was all she could grasp. With one last loud groan, she let go, hot fluid covering his cock as he had demanded. 

“Yes!” Loki gasped. “Ah, yes!” 

Afraid that he was going to orgasm without her being able to feel it, she turned her head to him. “I want it, master. Let me drink your cum.” 

Stepping back, he came around to her front as she knelt down on shaky legs. He fed her his cock, obviously ready to shoot off. Still reeling from her own orgasm, Phillipa was more than willing to see Loki through to his own. It hardly took a minute of her tongue swirling and rubbing before he grunted and filled her mouth with his salty seed. This time, she swallowed as much as possible, letting the remainder seep out of her mouth to land on her chest. 

“You dirty little woman,” he groaned, watching her in bliss. “Naughty girl.” 

She smiled up at him when he pulled his penis from her mouth. “I am your slut, master.” 

He knelt down to kiss her, much more gently. “You are my own, always and forever. I love you so.” 

“I love you too,” she replied, nuzzling against his neck. “But-” 

“Yes?” he asked, looking concerned. 

“I don’t think you have punished me enough, master,” she hinted, and watched the slow grin spreading over his face in glee. “I have been very naughty today.” 

“Bad girl,” he whispered, putting his hand between her legs. “You need more punishment indeed.” 

Happy to be agreed with, Phillipa settled down to enjoy his every whim. The party had been nice, in its own way. However this, she considered as he made her lick his fingers clean, was a cut above the rest.


	45. Do Not Combine

Rushing into the offices, Agent Ward cursed his luck. He would forget to set his alarm on the one night that he was up very late, and then even later because Skye- never mind. It just meant that bright and early turned into ten in the morning, which, while bright, could hardly be called early. Hopefully he was not going to be brought to task too harshly. 

Everyone else would be here, he thought in disgust. Even though Jemma and Leo had not yet left when he had taken Skye home, they were in their lab, busily working. Skye was at a desk, and Ward gave her a wide berth. At the moment, he did not want to remember much of the night before. 

“Nice to see you, Agent Ward.” Coulson gave him a look. “I did say early.” 

“Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.” 

“Good. Now, what do you have to report on the club?” 

“I know that Alexis, Jessica and Renata are all working tonight, and the theme is Love and Lust.” 

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “Classy.” 

“They also expect an important guest, sir. Jen Cameron is supposed to grace the club with her presence.” 

Skye peeked over her folder to add, “It’s Lexi’s night.” 

“Sounds like you will be having a busy night. What about Phillipa?” 

Ward looked to Skye but she shrugged, “I didn’t hear from her yet. I know Erin is working too, but that’s one girl short still.” 

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to wait-” Grant was interrupted by a ringtone that very clearly was the tune of ‘She Blinded Me With Science.’ 

“Whoops. Sorry, text from Lexi,” Skye said. “She wants to know if we’re coming. Should I say yes?” 

“It’s not even noon and she’s awake?” asked Ward in surprise. “We had to pry her from the Wild Turkey last night.” 

“Nobody said she was happy about being up,” Skye pointed out. 

Coulson cut in, “Don’t answer her just yet, Skye. She won’t expect you to be up this early, either. Jemma and Leo have some devices to brief us in. After that, we’ll break for lunch and you can reply.” 

“All right,” Skye sighed. “You sure know how to make simple things complicated.” 

They walked into the lab as a group, and instantly Ward was aware that something about the atmosphere was off. Not merely his own discomfort, the very air seemed tinged with pink embarrassment. Who else already knew what he had walked in on last night? 

Quickly, Jemma picked up a small USB stick, and brandished it at Skye. “Good thing you’re here. We were just about ready to test this. It’s based on your own hacking programs.” 

“Ooo,” cooed Skye, for once as interested in the project as the scientists. “What is it?” 

“Spyware,” Leo told her. “But uploadable and untraceable.” 

Nodding, Coulson told Skye, “I want you to put this on Phillipa’s tablet when you help her learn how to use it. We should be able to track her movements, and details about the club activities from its least suspicious member.” 

“You mean you want to find out who Walter really is,” Skye corrected. “I’d be mad, but I know something you keep forgetting. Phillipa is about as unplugged as you can get. She doesn’t have a facebook, twitter, or even a MySpace. Frankly, it still amazes me she has an email- but then, she only has one. Maybe your phishing will catch him that way, but it’s super unlikely. It’d be smarter to tap her phone.” 

Shrugging, Coulson said bluntly, “I don’t have permission for that, yet. But I do have permission for you to use that spyware on any club employee who will let you use a device of theirs. That goes for Lexi, Ren and Jessica equally.” 

“Boy, I don’t want to be the one to troll through Lexi’s email,” Skye remarked. “But let’s see if it works.” 

“Tablet, Agent Ward?” Jemma asked. 

“You’re not going to use a hammer on it, are you?” 

“Don’t be silly. We’re just going to see if we can get into your email and so on.” 

Tablet already handed over, Ward wondered when, exactly, his life would return to something resembling normality. “Invading my privacy, you mean? Fantastic.” 

Before Jemma could expose his complete lack of a social life for the whole team, Skye’s phone went off again. She fumbled to pull it from her pocket, some boy band singing about how attractive a girl was. Typical stuff. So why was Coulson eyeing Skye like that? 

“Ah, it’s Phillipa. I had better answer, right?” 

“You play ‘Something’ for my daughter?” Coulson wanted to know. 

“It just seemed right. Look, I’m answering the phone.” Skye brought it to her ear and chirped, “Hi, Phillipa. What’s up? Oh, yes, Jemma’s here- wait, I’ll put you on speaker. There.” 

That silenced Agent Coulson, as Skye surely knew it would. Ward had to admit that Skye could be quite the sneaky devil. Which fact explained why she was the hacker. 

“Jemma?” Phillipa’s voice asked. 

“Yes, I’m here. Leo and Agent Ward are too.” 

“Oh. Hi. Er, Stark wanted me to give you a message, and Leo too- I have no idea why he didn’t call you himself.” 

Jemma shrugged. “He might not have our number, I suppose. Go on, then.” 

“Well, he said- um, let me see. Oh yes: If you use his guest room and try to clean up after yourself, you should probably change the fitted sheet too.” 

In the burning silence that followed, Ward tried to look anywhere but Coulson’s face. There was a company policy about this sort of thing. Although it could be filed under accidental, there were steps that had to be taken if the superiors found out about it. So why the hell was Skye grinning? 

“If it makes you feel better, I called him a slut at breakfast,” Phillipa added cheerfully. 

“Breakfast?” mouthed Coulson, looking about as shocked as they all felt. 

“Phillipa. . . did you. . . with Stark?” 

Laughing, Phillipa insisted, “Not me. Ren. Finally! But, the funny thing is, she called him a slut too.” 

Trying, very obviously, to avert their boss’s rage, Skye pleaded, “You didn’t stay the night, did you?” 

“I fell asleep on the patio. Everybody had left. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I think everyone thought someone else had taken care of me.” 

“But after all that tequila,” Jemma burst out, “You can’t be well.” 

“No, I’m fine. Oh, that reminds me: Agent Ward?” 

Gulping, Grant had to say, whether he wanted to or not, “Yes?” 

“Hiding the tequila back where it came from might work on toddlers, but not on adults. I had several more shots because you didn’t hide the bottle properly.” 

“Oh boy,” murmured Skye. “Were you sick?” 

“No, just obnoxiously chipper so far. Stark said I was probably still drunk. L-Walter says I’m fine, though. I think he would know.” 

Feeling he actually had to contribute somehow, Agent Ward asked, “So, you’re home now?” 

“I’ve been home for over an hour. Walter picked me up.” 

Clearly they were going to be doomed anyway, so Leo dared to inquire, “Are we going to be meeting him soon, then?” 

“I’m not clear on that, yet. Apparently he felt rather snubbed yesterday- eek! Stop that, you. I’m on the phone! I said five minutes!” 

“Um, Phillipa?” Skye said hesitantly. 

“Yes, I’m here- You! I said wait! No, I said- ah! Okay, I’ll be quick.” In quite a rush, Phillipa demanded, “Are you coming tonight? Because _Walter_ promised he’s going to watch me tonight and he might even be so sociable as to say hello to a few people.” 

“Uh,” Skye stalled, looking at their boss. Before he could give the nod, they heard Phillipa say, 

“Could you just keep your pants on until they answer me? I mean it! No, I am keeping mine on too!” 

“Yes, yes we’re going to come,” Skye finally answered, unable to bear the look on Agent Coulson’s face any longer. “Listen, we’ll see you then. Both of you.” 

“Oh, good. Until then- Will you just wait? God, you are so demanding today!” 

Beet red, Skye hung up quickly. If Ward had understood it to be awkward when he walked in, now there was nothing that could possibly top it. On that basis, Jemma quickly started the program and demonstrated how easily they could access his email and personal files. Skye added a few suggestions for improvements, but nobody’s heart was in it. They were all waiting for the eruption. 

“Well done,” Coulson said at last. Then he quickly turned the subject back to Phillipa. “Much better than the job you did last night. You left her there without any supervision?” 

Agent Ward felt the need to stand up for the others. “It’s my fault, sir. I took Steve Rogers at his word that he would make certain she got home safely. I should have followed up on it.” 

Looking slightly mollified, Coulson asked, “Steve Rogers told you he would take care of Phillipa?” 

“Yes, sir.” Coughing slightly, Ward added, “Skye was in a bad way, and needed to go. I did not know the exact whereabouts of Simmons or Fitz, so I took her here myself. I should have returned afterwards.” 

Turning his formidable gaze on Skye, Agent Coulson repeated, “Skye was in a bad way?” 

“Potato salad and vodka don’t mix well,” Skye told him, unwilling to take all of the trouble on herself. 

“Next time, stay sober. That goes for all of you,” he added sternly. “If this is how you behave when someone else’s safety depends on you, your next performance evaluation is not going to be a happy one. Am I clear?” 

“Yes, sir,” they mumbled. 

“Now, break for lunch. Skye, I want you to prepare a dossier on Jen Cameron and her activities. Since she will be your main person of interest tonight, I want everyone to know her file backwards and forwards.” 

“Yes, sir,” the unit chorused again, with the same amount of enthusiasm. Some people had the weekends off.


	46. Manners

“You beast,” Phillipa complained. “I was saying goodbye, politely!”

“Manners are of secondary importance to what I am about to do to you,” Loki hinted darkly, hands on her waistband.

“You are coming tonight, right?” Phillipa pleaded, putting her hands over his. “Please? You don’t have to say hello to everyone, I promise.”

“I will greet one person,” Loki allowed.

Figuring it was her only weapon, Phillipa pressed herself against him seductively and suggested, “I could persuade you to meet a few more, couldn’t I?”

Grinning broadly, Loki asked, “And just how do you intend to do that, my own?”

Thus questioned, she had to answer. She knelt before him, slowly sliding down his body, letting her hands trail above her. The moment she nuzzled his growing erection she suspected she had as good as won a concession from him. With an impish grin of her own, she said,

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

“Temptress,” he hissed as she mouthed his penis through his trousers. “Show me, then.”

She did. With lips and hands, she worked to arouse him. Doing this through his clothing only seemed to raise his passion. His epithets were more vehement, and he watched her with his mouth open, breathing hard. For her, rubbing his cock and sucking at his balls through cloth was also arousing. The thought occurred to her: she could do this in public as well as at home. Just imagining stroking him beneath a table at work, with no one the wiser- she might want to try that sometime. Once she was certain he could handle no more of her loving caresses, she carefully released his penis. It bobbed into view, and she could not resist giving the head a tender kiss.

“Yes!” he gasped. “My own, you are such a dirty woman!”

“Only for you,” she promised. “I know how much you like it.”

Smiling naughtily, Phillipa brought her head down to kiss and suck at his balls. The moment he put his hands in her hair, she knew that she was doing well. With exaggerated care, she licked up his cock until she reached the head. Then she took as much of his penis as she could into her mouth, sucking hard. He was definitely pleased. When he began to buck his hips, though, she pulled away.

He grabbed for her, but she stepped back, and meaningfully lifted the hem of her shirt. Slowly, she lifted the bottom upwards, letting him catch just a glimpse of her bra. Then she let it settle again, as if she had changed her mind. His hoarse groan spurred her to stop teasing him, for the moment. Watching her remove her top, Loki began to stroke himself. Gently, she batted his hand away.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” she teased. Then she turned and slid her pants over her ass, bending over as she did so. His moan told her this was one show she was getting just right. Considering how wet she felt, she wondered if he was not getting more of a look than usual.

Standing before him in her white satin bra and white cotton panties, Phillipa cupped her breasts. She pinched her nipples and rolled her head back in delight. Fuck, but that felt so good! With his eyes locked on her, she slid one finger down between her legs. Bringing it to her mouth, she licked off the juice that had seeped out from her underpants. It felt extremely dirty, and she was well aware that she could easily finish herself. Still, she would much rather his flesh against her own.

Once again, she stepped close to him. Given their height differences, she just barely reached his shoulder. Up on her tiptoes, she kissed him lightly. He tried for more, but she was wise to his ways. Instead, she kissed and nuzzled his neck, letting her hand very gently cradle his balls. Once he had earned it, she stroked his cock, just grazing it with her fingertips.

“Fuck! Woman, you are driving me mad!” Loki insisted, trying to take her by the shoulders.

“Does this mean you will meet a few more people?” she asked, letting her index finger rest right over the tip of his cock.

“Yes! By the stars, you have earned that!”

“It must be because you have trained me so well,” she murmured against his lips before allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth.

As he explored her mouth with abandon, she reached up behind her back and undid the clasp on her bra. His hands raked through her hair, begging for her to let him take control. She still had a few things she wished to get done, however. Pulling her mouth away from his for a moment, she invited him to look as she slipped off the dainty undergarment. He sighed in lust, hands moving into position to caress them should she allow it. Grinning, she placed one of his hands on her breast, feeling her skin tighten at the contact.

“Go ahead,” she encouraged him lovingly. “I know you want to.”

“I will always desire your body,” he groaned. “You make me burn, my own.”

Arching her back to give him better access, Phillipa watched his face closely. She wanted to time this properly. Although he was making it difficult for her to concentrate, with the way his hands were cupping and squeezing her breasts. She did stop him from sucking at her breasts, keeping his mouth firmly over her own. To make up for his frustration, he began to tease and twist her nipples. She could feel hot liquid sliding down from between her legs, she was so aroused. Finally, when Loki pinched hard, Phillipa whispered in his ear,

“Shall I suck you? Or do you want something more?”

With this offer on the table, she turned and peeled off her underwear. Her bare ass was clearly visible, as well as the rest of her. She had made no bones about the fact that she wanted him to fuck her, and he would know this was exactly what she was suggesting. Now would be a lovely time to have him make her his in a way no one else could ever truly claim. And she wanted him to own her, forever.

“How you tempt me,” he hissed, and pressed himself flush against her backside, cock resting just over her ass. “But, no, beloved. Not yet.”

“Loki,” she sighed, frustrated. He reached around to stroke her clitoris, turning her to putty in his hands. “Oh! Oh, yes!”

“Soon,” he growled in her ear, making her stomach drop pleasantly. “Very soon, I will own all of you. And when that day comes, you will scream my name for all to hear.”

His cock now slid between her legs, giving her more to think about. To her disappointment, he stopping fondling her clitoris. Quickly making up for it, he took her breasts in his hands, twisting and pulling her nipples. All the attention made her hips jerk forward, and he grated out harshly,

“Yes! Move your hips to make me cum and earn my concession.”

Complying, as she always did, she rocked her hips back and forth over his cock. As pleasurable as it was for her to feel his penis rubbing hard against her clitoris, his groans only added to her growing ardor. Now, more than ever, she wanted him inside of her. Unable to help herself, she pleaded,

“Please, take me Loki. I want you. Oh, yes! I want your cock in me, fucking me! Please!”

Apparently as frustrated as she, he pulled himself away. “Come here,” he commanded, sitting down on the floor.

She obeyed at once, and he yanked her down on top of him. His fingers pinched her clitoris, making her squeal. As he forcefully arranged her to his liking, Phillipa did her best to hang on. The way he was rubbing and pinching even as he made her straddle his hips made it hard. Then he pushed something into her vagina, forcing a gasp from her lips.

“I won’t give you my cock yet,” he purred. “But I have something you will enjoy, since you have been such a good girl for me.”

The buzzing alerted her at once to the fact that it was the vibrator. But instead of simply leaving it inside of her, he was pulling it in and out slowly. She sighed in amazed pleasure. Trust him to give her, not what she wanted, but something new and even more satisfying than she could have dreamed. Loki picked up the pace bit by bit, bringing her to the very edge of orgasm.

When she started panting heavily, he scooted up so that his cock was in front of her face. Without needing to be told what he wanted, she started licking and sucking for all she was worth. Her hips rocking back and forth in time with the thrusts of the vibrator made it easy to bob her mouth over his cock, and he had no objections to the speed.

To her surprise, he was the first to orgasm, spilling his seed deep down her throat. Phillipa choked on it slightly, but by the time she thought to complain about his rough treatment, her own peak had snuck up on her. Head thrown back, she accepted the passionate kisses Loki rained on her face and neck. Mischievously, Loki pulled out the vibrator and held her hips down so that it was pressing on her clitoris. The sensations, coming so close after her first wave of bliss, drove her absolutely wild. Phillipa could not keep quiet, nor could she resist the persistent vibrations. He forced her to orgasm once again, so violently that she screamed out loud.

Now that everyone knew what she had been up to, Phillipa thought in dazed dismay as he let her up. Actually, it was not so much up as cuddled next to him on the floor. Exhausted, she started to drift off into a doze, only barely aware of his hands tenderly caressing her skin. When he brushed his lips over hers, she roused herself enough to kiss him back.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“I love you as well, you little seductress,” he chuckled.

Snuggling in close, she dared to ask, “Won’t you fuck me soon? Every time I touch you- God, Loki, I want it so badly.”

“I am aware,” he said drily. “As I have said: soon, my own. You will know when the time is right.”

Sighing, Phillipa let it be. “Three people won’t be too many, will it?”

“Hardly. Who are to be your victims, then?”

“Jessica, Lexi and Ren. It’s all right, isn’t it? I don’t want to push you-”

Bringing her hand to his lips for a loving kiss, he silenced her. “Hush. I said I would do this for you, and I shall. Now, my own, let us bathe. As much as I love knowing my scent is upon you, others might object.”

“That’s just a nice way of saying that I smell bad,” she scolded, even while allowing him to help her to her feet. “I don’t even know what I’m going to wear- not that it matters, exactly. I just- oh, never mind.”

Loki wrapped his arms around her waist and murmured gently, “You are feeling shame that you do not have as much as the other girls.”

“No, I’m no- it’s just. . . I suppose I am getting spoiled,” Phillipa sighed sadly. “But I can’t afford more clothes as well as my supplies. Sheet music and blank music notebooks cost too much for that.”

“You have a pile of them in your closet,” Loki reminded her.

Ashamed, Phillipa turned her eyes to the floor. “They’re already full.”

She could hear the surprise in his voice as he said, “I was not aware that you wrote music.”

“It’s stupid,” she mumbled. “I just. . . can’t stop. Anyway, nobody would like it. It’s not- it’s wrong somehow. Only, in my head it sounds fine. But when I play it- I’m just a dunce at it, I guess.”

“And have you let anyone else be the judge of your skills?”

“No. Nobody should see it. It’s wrong,” Phillipa insisted, feeling a surge of panic.

However, he knew her too well. “Is it? Or did your mother tell you it was?”

Shrinking back from him, Phillipa whispered, “Please don’t say that.”

“My poor own,” he said tenderly, pulling her back in close. “Do you think I would not know what she has done to you? She turned you against yourself, but being your guardian does not make her automatically correct. Let another grade your skills.”

“I can’t. Nobody can look.” Phillipa pleaded, “Don’t make me show them.”

“Then show me,” he encouraged her gently. “You know I will not hurt you. And I would like to see all that you do, to help you better yourself.”

“But it’s wrong,” she mumbled.

“Please?”

She met his eyes, lips trembling. How could she? He would hate it, would loathe her for writing it, would know that she was wrong and stupid and unloveable-

Very gently, he lifted her until she was up on the stool. It was one of her purchases for the dorm, so that she could get into the top of the cupboards to clean them. Now he used it to make her even taller than he was. Awkward, she clung to him.

“Shh, my beloved, I would never, never be able to stop loving you, no matter how poorly you write music. What is that to me? You,” he assured her vehemently, “Are my everything. I will never let you go.”

“But you won’t like it,” she said sadly. “And I want you to like it- and me.”

“I love you. My own, you must leave her poison behind you. All those ugly words, all of her hatred- that was wrong, not you. She was diseased, striving ever to poison your mind as her own was poisoned. That is not who you are. That is not who others are.”

“But-”

He cut her off with a kiss, soft and sweet. “Do you not recall the party? Nearly all of your friends were intoxicated. But did they lash out at you? Did they seek only to harm you with words or blows?”

“No,” Phillipa admitted.

“Because they are not broken underneath. Even if they were, they are not so twisted as to force others to feel their pain for them. There is a difference between honest vengeance and abuse. She had no reason to do the things she did to you, beyond insanity. And that is not an experience to base your beliefs about how people shall behave upon. Believe in me, my own. Believe in us.”

Still fearful, Phillipa nevertheless climbed down from the stool and went into her bedroom. Taking the book she had most recently filled, she held it over her heart for a moment. She had to trust in him, or else what would she have? Slowly, she relaxed her hold on it and offered her notebook to him. He did not have to like it to love her, she tried to remind herself.

“Thank you,” Loki said solemnly, taking it from her hands with care. Then he said a soft word and the book vanished, to his own library, he told her, where it could rest in luxury until he was ready to peruse it.

“Will you-” Phillipa gulped. “Will you only tell me if it’s okay?”

He pulled her into his arms again, guiding her head to rest over his heart. “Fear not, my heart’s own. I would never harm you with cruel words. Come now, we have but a little time before you must leave. Let us rinse off your sweat and tears.”

“Will you come with me?” she asked as they stepped into the bathroom.

With a crooked smile, Loki agreed. “Of course. How else am I to be overrun by your closest friends? Ah, ah. No more questions. Otherwise I will be tempted to exact punishment this very minute. And you would not wish to be late, however pleasurable your. . . reprimand will be.”

Relaxing into his arms, Phillipa closed her eyes. Let it be enough, she thought. Enough that he loved her and she loved him; enough to wash away all the pain of her childhood; enough to open her heart to him forever. If she did not have him, what would there be left in the world to hold on to?


	47. Love and Lust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist for Saturday Night is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-dJN3CYAC1lZuGM6aqZgq6J5tktKuWEl

Lexi was very cheerful right up until the moment Jay stripped off her gloves.

“Not with those sleeves, darling, precious little Lexi.” Shaking his head, he continued, “Absolutely not.”

“But Jay!” she whined. “I can’t go without gloves! All the touching and the gross things and the teeth- yuck, no more teeth! People put their mouths on everything I swear! You don’t know how awful it is!”

“No gloves,” he said sternly, and that was that.

Pouting, Lexi eyed her reflection. She did look fantastic in this new blue and black outfit, with its short black satin and tulle under-skirt, but long flowing blue over-skirt with black lace trim that flowed behind her all the way to the floor and sweetheart neckline with off-the shoulder puffs. With a corset body to give her curves where she normally had little, and a fetching design of sunflowers and fleur de lis, it was sure to turn heads. The matching collar was very adorable. So why not even short gloves? There was a very cute pair of single button black ones available. Unfortunately, what Jay said was law around here.

“Oh, poop,” she grumbled. Then, brightening, she remembered that little Phil had promised they could meet her boyfriend.

“Oh, how come you get to wear gloves?” she had to whine when she saw Jessica in artistically torn mesh gloves.

“Because I have no sleeves at all.” This was true. Jessica was wearing an olive drab strapless leather dress with a zipper and big, thick buckles. Any man in her vicinity would instantly wonder how much pressure they were under, to be restraining her impressive breasts.

“Look, relax already. You don’t have to touch anything but the mic, remember?” Shimmying up a pair of textured tights with holes built-in, Jessica added, “And be on your best behavior for Phillipa and her boyfriend. She called me earlier, and sounded nervous as hell.”

“Domino, have I ever been less than charming?” Lexi demanded, affronted.

“Yes. Many times. So tonight, do better than that or I swear, I will use these boots to good purpose on your skinny backside.”

Eyeing the hefty steel-toed monstrosities, Lexi backed her more delicate black lace over blue heels with ribbon ties well away from Jessica. “I’ll be picture perfect. Cross my heart.”

“Perfect for what?” Phillipa asked, hurrying in the door.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” Jessica advised. “You’re not late.”

“Oh, I know. I just want to know my section so I can tell L- Walter where to sit.”

Lexi grinned impishly. “And so you can have seven minutes of heaven in the bathroom?”

“Lexi,” Jessica said menacingly. But Phillipa only gave her a puzzled glance as she reached into the big closet.

“What does that even mean?” she asked, clearly not listening. She searched through the dresses distractedly. Finally, she brought out a dark blue and cream dress that made Lexi’s heart throb in awe.

“Oh, Phillipa! It’s beautiful!” she sighed.

“Almost as pretty as yours,” the older girl said generously.

The moment she took off her shirt, Lexi was watching for new bruises. There was only one on her shoulder, which would be covered by the lace shawl that went with the dress. No one could possibly spot it. Clearly, Phillipa and her man were being slightly more clever about their love bites.

“I’ll tie your corset,” Jessica offered, “And Erin said she was going to glam you up tonight, so touch nothing on the make-up table, nor your hair.”

“I’ll help tie up your sides,” Lexi volunteered, glad for the chance to helpful. The lacy bustle was elegantly scooped up on the sides with ties that raised it to her waist. After carefully eyeballing both sides, Lexi pronounced her finished. The ivory ribbons for everything were ridiculously long, so Lexi found some gold pins to loop up the ends and prevent them from dragging.

Erin arrived on the scene to pounce on Phillipa with brush and lipstick. Since she had waited herself, Lexi moved to remedy her lack of face paint. As Erin brushed blue and black over Phillipa’s eyelids, Lexi lined her eyes in black and used blue mascara and a pairing of brilliant blue and silver eyeshadow to great effect. She gave her cheekbones a good dose of red, and chose black lipstick for tonight. Her hair went up into two pigtails with lace ties. Maybe Dr. Banner would give her a double take like he had the night she had worn that adorable outfit with the chains.

Of course, he might still feel awkward about the kiss she had given him last night. Well, he ought to get over it. Sex was completely normal- even little Phil was beginning to see that. What had Natasha said? Something about Clint have the right stuff for the job? Well, the same went for Dr. Banner. She certainly wanted to find out about his stuff.

Still, sighed Lexi to herself, she could hardly compare to girls like Phillipa. Look at those curves! And Erin had given her a soft, innocent look, with pink lips and golden shimmer to complement the cream and dark blue of the dress. Her hair was pinned up into a soft bun, with little tendrils of hair escaping to curve delicately over the back of her neck and in front of her ears. The butterfly was perched to one side, sparkling softly. Lexi’s butterfly was a garter that she seldom wore. Erin’s pin perched over her left breast- and Lexi had secret suspicions about the meaning of that- whereas Jessica’s was an actual tattoo in the small of her back.

“There,” pronounced Erin. “Gorgeous.”

“I bet Walter will think so,” insinuated Lexi slyly. But Phillipa only looked as anxious as she had used to before she and Walter had become an item, asking Lexi’s reflection,

“Do you really think he’ll like it?”

“Of course he will,” Jessica said gently. “Why don’t you go out and show him?”

“Okay,” said Phillipa faintly, slipping on her cream heels and gliding out the door as pale as a ghost.

Perplexed, Lexi said to the other girls, “I thought girls who were in love got all smug and satisfied- like Ren.”

“Don’t be silly,” Erin scolded playfully. “Besides, Lexi baby, our little songbird never has been in love before, remember? Poor little thing, this is her very first time. No wonder she’s terrified. Now you behave yourself with her lover. I don’t think he’s one to take kindly to bouncing.”

“Maybe the right kind of bouncing,” Lexi said, but her heart was not really in it. She had not thought of Phillipa’s natural anxiety earlier, and she ought to have. She was the detective!

Since she was all ready to go, Lexi had to go and bother Ren. Ren, who had finally gotten laid and had looked as sleek and satisfied as a kitty licking its chops. Obviously Stark was not all talk. But possibly all tongue. Time to find out!

“Hello, Ren,” she cooed.

“Fuck,” swore the redhead. “Go away, Lexi.”

“Oh? You don’t have something you want to say to me? Something about that hot, sweaty, loud and apparently very satisfying sex you had last night?” Lexi hinted.

Ren reached over the bar to swipe at her with a bottle of white wine, but missed. “Keep your voice down, you pea brain!”

“So, does he live up to internet rumor? And I do mean UP.”

“Shut up.”

“And how many different times did you spank his monkey, which I hear is sizable?”

“SHUT YOUR FACE- three times- NOW, GO AWAY!”

“And was it nice?”

“SHUT YOUR GODDAMN HOLE.”

“I bet that's not what HE said.”

Before Ren could leap over the bar and strangle her- perhaps Lexi was going a tad far- Jessica came up and hauled Lexi backwards. Giving her the eyebrow, she nodded at Ren and pulled Lexi away from the bar by the back of her skirt. Although she must look pretty silly, Lexi still had to admire Jessica’s brute strength.

“Aw, come on, Domino,” she whined. “I was only teasing a little.”

“I will bring white carnations to your funeral, but get killed after work.”

Frowning, Lexi reminded, “I like pansies, not carnations.”

“Funny, Dr. Banner doesn’t seem much like a pansy.”

“I was talking about flowers, gosh. I like my men with enormous-”

“Lexi? Jessica?” interrupted Phillipa. Well, that was very nearly embarrassing for someone, thought Lexi before she turned around.

Wow, but he was a gorgeous, tall drink of water! Lucky Phillipa, Lexi thought as she looked the pair over, all the while noting the way his hand was on her hip and her hands were nervously twisting in front of her. Lexi would have expected his other hand to be holding hers, but he had a totally science fiction cane in hand. Obviously it was for show. Plus, he looked even more smug than Ren, and just possibly more smug than Mr. Stark was going to be when he came by later on. But when Phillipa looked up into his face anxiously, his smile softened and he pulled her in close.

“Introduce us,” he suggested, voice soft, yet rich.

“Oh, yes. Um, Lexi, Jessica, this is- Walter.” Phillipa pointed each of them out, but her eyes will still on “Walter’s” face.

“Hi, ‘Walter.’ Nice to finally hear you say something other than your drink order,” purred Lexi.

He partially raised an eyebrow, a move which made every straight girl in the club privately swoon. The arrogance returned to his face, but he said nothing in return. Obviously he was going to be a tougher nut to crack than most. Of course, little Phil deserved the best. Judging from the way her face lit up when he smiled at her, he was doing all right. Lexi was willing to give him a grudging pass, but he needed to lighten up. Phillipa did not need a Byronic hero, all moody and depressed.

“Good to meet the man who has made Phillipa so happy,” Jessica said more directly, and offered her hand. “Walter” accepted the gesture graciously, delivering a firm but still polite shake.

“It is. . . intriguing to meet her friends,” he told them, not bothering with gracious lies. He was more than a little intriguing himself, Lexi decided. What was the attraction for Phillipa? His attraction was clear: he was a man, she had boobs, what more could there be to it? But what was little Phil getting out of this?

“Walter will be in my section,” Phillipa told the girls, pointing over to the corner table. “He doesn’t want a lot of fuss, er, and Jay says I’m allowed to tell you to stay out.”

“No worries, angel child,” Jessica assured her. “I’ll make Lexi behave.”

“Why is it only me you ever worry about? What about Ren?”

As one, everyone looked over to the bar. To Lexi’s amazement, Ren was staring off into space. She did not even stir when Erin leaned over the bar and swiped a bottle of vodka to pour Jay his evening shot.

“Wow, she’s got it bad,” Lexi said in awe. “I guess those rumors about what Stark can do with his hips were totally true.”

“Walter” gave her a calculating look. “And just how did you innocently come across such things?”

“Believe me, there was nothing innocent about it,” Jessica declared, and then dragged Lexi away by the back of her dress.

“Domino, you’re going to leave wrinkles,” protested Lexi after a moment.

“I’m going to wrinkle your head in a minute, you little rabble rouser,” scolded the older mutant. “How many times have I told you not to discuss your internet search history with customers? Remember that poor boy? He fainted!”

“Aw, that was ages ago!”

“Last week is not ages! Did you not hear me threaten pain if you upset little Phil tonight?”

Hanging her head, Lexi scuffed her shoes. “Yes, Domino. But he looked like he thought it was funny. Well, interesting, anyhow.”

“But Phillipa didn’t. She’s our friend, remember? If you could avoid humiliating her for tonight, it might look good. Now, get up on stage before I decide you’re better off in the closet- without seven minutes of heaven!”

Chastened, outwardly at least, Lexi scooted. No one was even ready for her to be out on the stage floor. With a few minutes left before opening as well, she slipped her phone out and texted Skye. Never mind all Jessica’s scolding, Lexi thought. She was a very good friend to Phillipa, and she was not about to be blinded by a very sexy grin or dress shirt and tie. At least, not on little Phil’s boyfriend. Maybe on Dr. Banner. Or a lab coat.

Skye’s reply said the group was running late, but she would hurry over as fast as she could. Then she added quickly in a second text that she hoped Lexi liked the dresses she and Jemma had picked out. Dr. Simmons was becoming a closet Goth! Oh yeah, and guess who had finally hooked up? Grinning, Lexi sent back a picture she had already photoshopped of Stark and Ren.

“NO FREAKING WAY,” read Skye’s initial reply, followed up by a picture of Jemma and Leo.

“Oxygen Magnesium, that is SO ADORABLE,” wrote Lexi back. “When did THAT happen? WAIT- I CANNOT BELIEVE I MISSED THAT TINY FACT. Leo even had HER socks on!”

“ROFL,” responded Skye, and then Jay was standing over Lexi with a look of extreme disapproval.

“Sweet, precious Lexi, what have I said about cell phones?”

Stuffing it back into her stocking, Lexi batted her lashes at him. “Not on the floor or backstage after we open.”

“So long as you obey that, darling. And please be good to our poor little turtledove and her mate. She’s so anxious about it that she actually asked moi what to do. Imagine that!”

“Okay, okay!” Lexi sighed. “I’ll behave. Gosh, does everyone have to tell me how worried little Phil is?”

“Naturally,” Jay said, tapped her none too lightly upside the head with his black lace fan. “It takes about five people to get any concept through your adorable, but very thick skull. Now, scoot your pert little bum out there and entertain people, dear heart.”

Offended, Lexi flounced out on stage. At least her first song was Emilie Autumn. She did not need to look cheerful. Later, she was going to get all of these scolders and naggers back.

She looked over the crowd, recognizing a lot of regulars, as well as some of the new people who had started coming when little Phil debuted. Over in the corner, as Phillipa had said, “Walter” was lounging at his table. He had rested his cane against the second chair, and steepled his hands in the manner of a super villain. Now there was a thought. Maybe little Phil had a thing for bad boys after all.

Then his face brightened abruptly, and Lexi was startled by the change. She saw what he had spotted: Phillipa bringing him a drink. He took the glass from her hand, wrapping his other hand around her wrist to pull her in close. Unable to read their lips, Lexi watched slightly jealously as he kissed her softly. Whatever he said made Phillipa giggle, and Lexi pressed her lips together tightly. If he was such a nice boy, why was he not giving out his real name? SHIELD folks aside, surely little Phil could trust her friends!

At last the music began and Lexi had to turn her attention to her performance. Tonight was her night, so she would have time between sets. Plenty of opportunity to get to know this “Walter” a lot better. He was not going to sweep away her Phillipa that easily!


	48. FINALLY, again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist for Saturday Night is here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-dJN3CYAC1lZuGM6aqZgq6J5tktKuWEl

That had not lasted very long, Ren thought with irritation. Even Phillipa had had a better bubble of romance around her when that Walter character had swept her off her feet. Stark was late and she was losing patience with all the usual morons who congregated around the bar in the hopes of being pounded. There were only so many beatings a girl could deliver before she grew bored.

Besides, Lexi was four times as obnoxious as usual, acting as though she had set up Ren and Stark. Ren had jumped into that man’s bed of her own volition, and the only person who could claim a hand in it was Phillipa- or the tequila. And the brandy. And the whiskey. And the- well, all of the booze. Definitely no involvement from Lexi, however.

It had been a pretty intense session. Sessions. Whatever it had been, she sort of wanted to repeat it, but the later Stark was, the more she suspected he regretted it. He had put on a good face in the morning, practically chasing little Phil out so that he could paw her all over, but-

The fact of the matter was, Ren was scared as hell underneath. It had been eating away all day long, while she pretended that she could believe he had an interest in her. Everyone, and she meant everyone, knew that Tony Stark was a whore. According to rumor, he would take pretty much anything so long as it was female and left quietly in the morning. So was Ren going to end up one of those girls? Would she spend her life pining for that thing he had done with-

“A brandy for Walter, please,” Phillipa interrupted her. Then she gave Ren a long look. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Ren snapped, but there was not as much fire as usual.

Leaning on the bar slightly, Phillipa said softly, “It’s Stark, isn’t it? He said he would be late, probably after Lexi’s third song.”

“I know that,” Ren grumbled. “What kind of brandy?”

“The ten year,” Phillipa answered.

Turning her back on the overly inquisitive Phillipa, Ren caught sight of her watching her face in the mirror. Why was everyone turning into nosy Lexi tonight? She opened the small cabinet underneath and brought out the brandy. It was so powerful, the fumes occasionally got first time drinkers intoxicated with just a sniff. Ren hated it, because it ate up so much of her paycheck.

“I suppose it should be Lexi saying this, but you probably shouldn’t care what that manwhore does.”

Catching herself just in the nick of time before she could defend Tony Stark of all people, Ren muttered, “I don’t care. I just wish he’d be on time for once.”

“Well, if it helps, you can just call him a slut loudly.” Phillipa winked. “After all, you have the right to, now.”

Now there was a thought, Ren conceded. She watched Phillipa take the brandy to her boyfriend, who waited with a gentle smile all for Phillipa, and resisted a sigh of envy. Some girls got lucky. And then there was Ren.

Twenty minutes later, she was nearly at the end of her patience with the bar crowd when Lexi came over, paler than usual and hauled her into the ladies’ room. Shaking off her grip, Ren glowered. Of course, the one night she had gone without gloves, Lexi would get sloppy and touch something. Why did this always end up being her problem?

“Ren, oh boy, seriously, I need you to tell me the absolute truth about something. I really, really need to know.”

“Fine. What?”

“If I learned an awful, awful thing about- about Tony, you’d want to know right?”

“Of course I would- hey, where the hell are you going?” But Lexi had already whisked out of the bathroom, leaving Ren standing there like an idiot.

Now what? That little nutcase! Grumbling to herself, Ren washed her hands before heading back to the bar. Phillipa was onstage now, singing something obnoxiously sweet, even for her. Leaning forward in his seat, “Walter” was watching her like there was nothing else in the whole world. And that damn runt Lexi was nowhere to be seen!

Settling again behind the bar in a dark thundercloud of annoyance, Ren handed out four stiff drinks to the whiners, hoping to knock them on their asses for a while, so they would shut up and leave her alone. Then elbows on the polished wood, Ren listened to the end of Phillipa’s song. Something about letting her love rest against her breast- well, what man would object to that? “Walter” sure seemed enchanted with the concept. Or maybe he was just enamored of her, judging by the way his eyes were on her even as she slipped offstage in a hurry.

Ren noted him standing up and she supposed he was leaving. Well, except for Phillipa’s debut he had never stayed all night. He did not seem like a huge music fan, and he never danced.

Phillipa almost flew out to kiss him goodnight, even though she would surely see him after work. Wrapping his arms around her, “Walter” made it clear he was unashamed to show her affection in public. Tired of waiting on Stark, Ren allowed herself a little twinge of jealousy. Certainly Phillipa deserved to be happy, but Ren would not have minded a little of that for herself. When Stark did get here, she was going to-

“Well hello, good-looking.”

Turning a full, laser-sharp glare on the idiot who dared, Ren found herself face to face with the man she had been plotting various ways to murder: some slow, some painful and most a little of both. It seemed that now she would have her pick of them. Folding her arms over her chest, she scowled.

“What?” he asked. “I even came early.”

“I know. I was there,” Ren said before she could stop herself. Remembering what Phillipa had suggested, she decided that now would be a good time to put him in his place. Not even one text afterwards!

Grinning, Stark leaned on the bar. “Nice implication for a woman who had such fun last night.”

Shrugging casually, she said, “Well, you’re a slut, so I knew you’d know what you’re doing.”

“I feel we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot somehow.”

“I don’t get off on feet, pervert.”

She had to turn away briefly as he clearly struggled for an appropriate comeback. Sometimes Phillipa had great ideas. Of course, a little torture always went a long way. Still keeping her back to him and with a small internal smile, she demanded,

“Are you going to order something, slut?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to harass-”

Cutting him off, Ren pointed out the sign over the bar. After a certain incident, Jay had ordered it specially. It read:

“Our bartender is allowed to:

1\. Ignore you

2\. Mock your drink choices, you pathetic soul

3\. Silently judge you, up to and including giving you dirty looks, the eyebrow and/or a sneer

4\. Openly judge you

5\. Refuse service for any damn reason, or no reason at all

6\. Hit you gently

7\. Hit you less gently

8\. Hit you with intent to injure you- there is a blackjack under the bar, but usually it will be a bottle of whatever you thought you were going to drink

9\. Call you names, including obscene ones

\- Our bartender is allowed to do all these things to you because you want a drink and you will do anything to get one, including paying the bartender and giving a generous tip so that your next drink will not be mere water. They have our full and open support to do any and all of the above should they feel your gratitude is less than par. Heckle the bartender at your own risk.”

It was a little work of art, Ren felt. Certainly it took people aback the first time they saw it. Sometimes they laughed, but only until they reached the epigram. Then they usually gave their order in a reserved manner and tipped properly.

“Wow,” Stark said. “In that case, this slut would like a shot of Hennessy and you.”

Without comment, Ren turned to the shelves. The way he kept shutting up was reminding her of that morning, and some of the things she had done to stopper his mouth. Pleasant as the memories were, he was just too damn pleased with himself. So, she set the shot in front of him silently and waited. As she had suspected, he could not help himself.

“How about a taste of you to sweeten the Hennessy?”

Bringing up the hose, she selected the soda water and squirted him with it. Kindly, she chose full in the chest rather than the face, or the crotch. His mouth dropped open and he stared down at his soaked button-down shirt. Too bad it was dark colored. She would not mind a wet T-shirt contest starring him and only him.

“That’s not on the sign!” Stark complained.

“I’ll have Jay write an addendum,” Ren told him sweetly.

“What is your problem?” he asked, more mildly than she would have expected, mopping at his front with the cheap bar napkins. They dissolved almost at once, while Ren listed her grievances.

“Hmm, let me see: I slept with someone last night, but that someone didn’t even bother to text me to say he’d be at my work tonight- no, he texted my friend, instead. And while my other friend’s boyfriend came right at the start, this guy left me hanging while he did other things he felt were more important, without saying what they were.”

Frowning down at his chest, Stark muttered, “These are worse than tissue. Anything else I failed to do?”

“You didn’t hug me,” Ren said, thinking that next time she ought to use the orange juice.

“Uh, there is a bar in the way. And, the last time I tried to get behind a bar with you, I almost died. Well, you tried to damage my favorite part of me, which would have amounted to the same thing.”

“You didn’t try,” she repeated. “You just want make-outs and sex.”

Cocking his head to the left, he asked in a puzzled voice, “Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

She raised the nozzle again and he danced back from the bar, hands up. Glowering, she waited for him to get it through his thick skull that she wanted make-outs, sex and other things all together. It might take forever. At least she would have standards, if nothing else. Slowly, hands still up, he came back to the bar.

“Look, okay, I can see you’re mad. Obviously, I haven’t done this perfectly. Er, but you didn’t say you wanted any of those things. I’m not exactly a mind reader. That’s still in development.”

She looked at him over the top of her glasses. “Most of that your friends would appreciate, not just the women who hop on your dick.”

“It wasn’t exactly a hop, because that would be painful. But I see your point,” he added hastily as she gestured with the hose meaningfully. “I should have called you. I couldn’t have been here any earlier, though.”

“And why not?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have had time to get you this,” he said, offering her a small rectangular box. Although she knew she shouldn’t, Ren took it.

“You shouldn’t have,” she grumbled as she saw the glasses within.

“Actually, I should,” he said, and plucked her own glasses from her face. She took a swipe at him, but missed. Smiling a little, he pointed to the box. “Try those.”

Ren glowered. “They’re clear, genius.”

“I know.” Stark leaned in and said quietly, “I figure if I see your eyes on me every day, I’ll stop being so startled by their beauty.”

Whacking him upside the head, Ren snapped, “And what about everybody else?”

“Well, my kindergarten teacher said it was important to share.” This time he ducked her swing.

“I don’t actually need-”

Stark caught her hand, and roguishly kissed it. “I know you don’t. We saw her each just fine last night. For you, it’s sort of a security measure, right?”

“Shut up,” she growled. Grinning, he kissed her hand again.

“I don’t want you protecting yourself from me. I don’t think I’d survive it.”

Before she could snap at him again, she caught sight of the clock. She made a quick decision. Stepping out from behind the bar, she grabbed his wrist and hauled him along after her. For once, he kept his mouth shut. Opening the supply closet, she shoved him in ahead of her. Quickly, she threw the deadbolt and turned around.

“Are we-”

To shut him up, Ren yanked on his shirt until their mouths were pressed against one another. He was quick to catch on, lifting her up and pressing her against the door. Legs around his waist, Ren thought to herself that she was in violation of company policy: employees were supposed to have sex in the restrooms like everyone else. This was much more soundproof, and spacious to boot. She did not want some asshole wandering in and interrupting either- she was already about to fuck one.

“Get your clothes off,” she insisted. He obeyed, pausing only to say,

“You know, I have never actually had seven minutes of heaven before. Can’t think how I missed it.”

For her part, Ren pulled off her pants and underwear. Now she believed that skirts might have a purpose. This would have been quite a bit faster. Stark was clearly practiced, having her back up against the door in less than a minute. He also took the time to slip her his tongue while reaching under her shirt, intent upon claiming her nipples.

“You are so hot,” he groaned, rubbing his growing erection against her. “How did you get this way?”

“Exercise,” she panted, arching her back at a particularly intense tweak.

“I might have to get on the treadmill. If you turned out this sexy, imagine what it would do for me.”

“Will you shut up?” Ren demanded. “I have ten minutes for my break.”

“Oh, well, in that case.” Stark knelt down between her legs and beamed up at her. “A gentleman always takes care of a lady’s needs.”

As she already knew, he was no slouch in any of the sexual arenas. His tongue and fingers worked in perfect harmony, mouth on her clitoris and fingers fucking her entrance gently until she was more than ready for a real fuck. Stark seemed plenty willing to suck her right to orgasm, however, adding yet another finger to his count. Feeling already stretched beyond belief, Ren knew she still wanted his hard cock inside of her. Later, she would get some serious revenge, but for now she wanted a quick and dirty sex session to treasure.

“Fuck me,” she commanded. “Put your cock in me and fuck me now.”

“You want this?” he teased, stroking himself in full view of her.

“I already told you I do.”

Using his thumb to slowly circle her clitoris, Stark asked, “Are you sure? I thought you were mad at me. Wouldn’t this be the ultimate revenge?”

“Damn it, Tony, stop teasing me!”

He stood up, and then leaned over to kiss Ren softly. “But I love teasing you. Look at how wet you are because of it.”

Tossing her head back, Ren hissed out, “Tony, please.”

“There’s the magic word,” he smiled, lifting her up once again. “Let me watch those beautiful eyes of yours while I put this inside of your hot little pussy.”

As he eased his cock into her dripping cunt, Ren groaned in relief. On the other hand, Stark was groaning for other reasons. He had already intimated last night that she had a very tight pussy, to complement his huge cock. She was not exactly sure of standard sizing, but he seemed a little large as he filled her completely.

The most important thing about this encounter for Ren, aside from how magnificently he moved inside of her, and the way that he paid plenty of attention to her clit even as he was fucking her, was the intimacy of it. Last night they had both been drunk and angry. Even though she remained a little angry, now she was dead sober and still willing. So was he, and that fact alone made this better than last time.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, as his hips and thumb caught her in exactly the right places at the right time. Biting back a yelp, she pressed herself close enough to him to give his neck a good bite.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he gasped. “And an invitation.”

So saying, he too began biting and kissing her, nibbling along her jawline before leaving what would surely become a hickey just below her right ear. Uncertain of how much time had passed, Ren concentrated on squeezing down on his cock, trying to get him to finish already. She really should have been thinking about condoms, because he grunted and warned,

“Don’t, Ren, I’ll cum in you. You’re so fucking tight.”

It was a bit too late to warn her, however. His fucking and clit teasing had done their job quite well. Biting down on his shoulder to muffle her cry, Ren came. Of course, this meant she tightened up on Stark’s cock, giving it a real workout. Having heard his warning, she could hardly feign surprise when she felt something hotter even than she was spurting up inside of her.

“Shit!” Stark swore, pulling out. His next shots landed on her belly, but the damage was done. They remained almost frozen that way, panting and owlishly eyeing one another. Carefully, Stark helped her to stand on her own two feet.

“Well, that could have gone better,” he mumbled, and then apologized. “I’m sorry. I should have put on a condom, but you were so eager. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

“It’s okay, I guess. This is what Plan B is for, right?” Ren said, feeling slightly hysterical.

“I’m sorry,” Stark repeated, then he leaned over to kiss her gently. “Whatever you want, Ren, I’ll support you. This is totally my fault. Do you want me to run and get the pill?”

“Yes.” Obviously, Ren thought, but it was nice of him to let her be the one to say she wanted it.

To her utter shock, he put a hand on her belly and said quietly, “I almost wish we were going to keep the little kid. But then, I’m clearly getting old and senile.”

“Clearly.”

“No one should ever fish for compliments around you,” Stark noted, and she whacked his chest, under the reactor. It was almost as if they were back to normal.

Using a couple of towels from the closet, they cleaned up enough to head back out. Stark slipped his arm around her waist, and refused to let go. Rather than alert everyone to his behavior, Ren tried to be cool. Then, at the bar, he caught her off guard with a deeply passionate kiss, leaving her almost breathless. Only the squeeze of his hand let her know that he was going out after the pill as promised.

This night could not possibly get any worse, Ren thought, trying to pretend she was not panicking about the consequences of their indiscretion. As ever, this was not a phrase to even be contemplated, because suddenly Lexi appeared. Just like earlier, she looked very upset and Ren could not help but wonder if duct-taping her hands would prevent the tiny idiot from touching every damn thing in her path.

“Have you seen Phillipa? I can’t find her anywhere! And I did my song and she did her next song and people were talking to me and then I thought I saw her but she isn’t where I thought she was-”

“I haven’t seen her. Relax, would you? It’s not like she’s dying.”

Lexi did not even bother to scold Ren, but scooted off as though rocket-propelled. Someone must have slipped the little woman coffee. It boggled the mind that anyone would ever consider giving her caffeine. Surely one encounter with Lexi would teach anybody better, Ren tried to reassure herself.

Naturally, Phillipa came by to deliver drink orders only moments later. Still caught up in her own serious problem, Ren never thought to warn her about Lexi. Then Stark came back and slipped her the pill. Immediately, she placed it on her tongue and washed it down with a shot of the vodka another customer had just ordered. The woman opened her mouth to complain, but Ren directed her attention to the sign. She was not having the best night, and nobody had damn well better give her grief.

Once the woman had silently paid, Stark leaned forward and suavely suggested, “Seeing as how I messed our earlier attempt up, how about you come home with me tonight, sweet thing?”

“Don’t even think it,” Ren said, taking his shot for herself. He stared down at the now empty tumbler in perplexed amazement.

“That was my alcohol,” he said, incredulous.

Smug, and finally satisfied, Ren said, “I know.”

Maybe she would go back to his place after hours. But he was going to suffer for a little while longer for giving her such a scare. Then she would ride him like a pogo stick until dawn, giving little to no quarter. Oh, the joys of sweet, sweet torture.


	49. Cool Story, Bro

Every now and then, Clint wondered what he was thinking, hanging around Stark. The other Avengers, sure- Natasha, especially- but the billionaire was a real piece of work. For whatever reason, tonight he had elected Clint as his confidant. Here Clint was, trying to keep track of Phillipa and now this.

“I don’t actually want a play-by-play of your sex life,” he tried to reiterate. Of course Stark was not listening.

“And then she has her orgasm, right? As all women having sex with me do.”

Clint pondered plugging his ears with his fingers and chanting “La, la, la, I can’t hear you,” but this would only encourage Stark. Really, he was glad that his friend had found someone to interest him, because he was clingy as hell when he was without a woman in his life, but this? It went well beyond the bro-code that Rhodes and Stark insisted upon at all times.

“But this is the weird bit: I actually started shooting inside of her.”

“I really don’t want to know.”

“But I let off at least one good shot in there!”

“You weren’t wearing a condom?”

“Oh, well, I can always pull out,” Stark said dismissively.

“You know, it amazes me you have no children. It really does.”

Shrugging, Stark repeated, “I can always pull out. That’s the thing: I always can. Except, I couldn’t help myself with Ren. And that just doesn’t make sense.”

“No, you can’t always pull out,” Clint said skeptically.

“It’s a gift. Ever since my very first date,” Stark added proudly, before deflating again. “But tonight I didn’t. Scared the living hell out of both of us, by the way. I don’t get it. I mean, even with Pepper, I could hang tough, you know?”

“Okay, does the phrase, ‘too much information,’ mean nothing to you?”

Taking him by the shoulders and giving him an actual shake, Stark forced Clint to pay more attention than he ever wanted to again. “Listen! I was abnormal and I want to know why! I mean, is it her? Is it me? Why did I have to shoot off so badly?”

“What are you two taking about?”

The two men turned slightly, bringing Phillipa into full view. She would make her father very proud, Clint thought, wearing that dark blue and cream gown. Fortunately both Natasha and Skye had been armed with cameras tonight. Looking radiantly happy, Phillipa had allowed several photos. They had missed “Walter” by mere minutes, but Natasha intended to worm a description from the bartender. Probably that was what she was currently up to, leaving Clint to handle Stark on his own.

“He’s giving me far too much information about his last sexual encounter,” Clint said, offering up Stark as sacrifice.

It worked wonderfully, judging by the way Phillipa colored right up and turned on Stark. “Oh, so you can detail your sexual exploits, but I’m supposed to keep a lid on it?”

“There was an abnormal thing, I wanted to check on it with a guy friend. That’s totally different.”

“Wait, are you telling Clint things about you and Ren?”

“Intimately,” Clint assured her. “In great detail.”

“She is going to massacre you,” Phillipa breathed. Then she looked thoughtful. “I’m going to sell tickets.”

“What? Hey!” Stark shouted after Phillipa who had done an abrupt about face and headed into the throng. “Wait! You can’t do that!”

Slowly a grin spread its way over Clint’s face. Honestly, he really liked that girl. She was turning out to be more fun than her past suggested. And Coulson was going to have a good laugh tonight, for certain. Hell, maybe the director would allow himself a chuckle in private.

“I want fifty percent!” he distantly heard Stark insisting, and then a very warm body pressed itself against him. Turning to look downward, Clint came face to face, metaphorically, with a hell of a lot of cleavage.

“Hey, Nat.”

“Clint,” she acknowledged coolly, even as she pressed herself against him in a fashion to make every man in the place wish to be Clint for about eight and a half minutes.

“Got a description?”

“She’s too spacy tonight,” Natasha said. “I’ll try Jessica later on.”

Before Clint could frame his real question properly, Lexi bustled over, looking distraught. “Have you seen Phillipa- nice dress, by the way, it goes with your boobs- but have you seen little Phil? I thought she was over here.”

“She was, but now she’s selling tickets to watch Ren massacre Stark. I wonder how much they’re going for.”

Shaking her head, Lexi hurried away, muttering, “She could just stand still for two minutes, I swear!”

“She has something on her mind,” Clint noted.

“Probably the lack of Phillipa-groping in her life,” Natasha said.

“Speaking of- I was wondering, why are you wearing that?”

“I thought I should blend in.”

Blending in was not quite the right description. She had on a red and black outfit with lace and flowers and not much else. With the low cut of her corset top, and the short skirt in front, gathered back into a bustle and train in the rear, nearly every male in the place- and a few of the females- were following her around with their eyes. Since she had been generously endowed in all the right places, Clint did not blame them. Still, it was not quite blending in so much as striking people dumb. Her legs alone could move men to hurry as nonchalantly as possible to the men’s room.

Possibly this was a mild attempt to one-up both Jemma and Skye, who had come dressed to suit the atmosphere. Leo seemed to be wearing the exact same outfit, but the girls were a vision. Both of them wore corset dresses: Jemma in black and blood red with a skirt that was short in the front and long in the rear, and Skye elegantly clad in a black velvet Chinese-style bolero and black velvet edged black-on-black rose brocade skimpy dress with a good two inches of delicate black lace around the hem. Certainly the pair of them were drawing looks of appreciation, although whether or not they noticed was questionable, focused as they were. Funny how fascinating Phillipa was to them. Sensible to a certain degree for the biochemist, Clint had to wonder what the appeal was for Skye.

As calmly as if she did not know the answer, Natasha slid an inquisitive hand down his arm and asked him in a low voice, “Do you want to see this again, later?”

Since there was no point in lying, Clint was forced to answer, “Yes.”

“I’ll make a note.”

And that was, on the surface of things, their entire relationship. Some days Clint hoped to God that there was more to it. Of course, nights were another story. After dark was always a good time for them.

“We should probably find a way to spare Stark a massacre,” Clint said. “Or at least get a good view.”

“I’d rather a good view. He is an utter bastard to women. And coming from me, that means something.”

It did. So Clint ambled over, with Natasha on his arm, to the main crew to see what was going on. Everyone’s focus seemed to be on Stark, who was trying explain his way out of the fight to Steve. He was definitely losing, because there was no way he could convince the World War II veteran that it was ever acceptable to discuss personal sexual encounters with anyone other than a doctor, or a cop. Admittedly, that was a bit old-fashioned, but Clint would have appreciated the sentiment five minutes ago.

“Firstly, I don’t see why anyone who was not a deranged individual would ever want to hear the details of your sex life,” Steve was saying as they approached the fringes.

“He has a point there,” Dr. Banner agreed.

Rhodes was not on the same side, apparently. “No, look, between bros, it’s fine.”

“Only if that bro wanted to hear it,” Clint piped up.

“Ah, yes, the man who sold me up the river. Why did you even tell Phillipa?”

Clint shrugged. “When it comes to you and a beautiful woman, Stark, who am I going to pick?”

“Okay, see, that is a fair point,” Rhodes insisted. “And she does look very nice tonight, too.”

Stark threw up his hands. “Look, I know she’s got great cleavage- as good, I think, as Natasha’s- but that does not mean Clint can choose ogling rights over helping a brother out of a jam.”

“I have absolutely no desire to stare at Phillipa’s cleavage,” Clint told him. “I knew her when she was in diapers.”

“Of course you- wait, what? Really?”

Clint lowered a hand to below knee height to illustrate her diminutive size. “This tall and just barely walking.”

“Well, now I am totally confused.”

Dr. Banner also looked surprised. “You never said.”

Shaking his head, Clint gestured toward Phillipa, “She wouldn’t remember, so I didn’t bring it up.”

“Let me get this straight: you knew Phillipa when she was knee-high to a duck, but you didn’t mention that to her, or us. You also never went to see her after that?”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Clint explained, “Coulson and I were going on a mission, and I wanted to drive. If I was going to, he said I’d have to pick him up. That’s when I met her.”

Stark looked baffled. “Was she cute?”

“She drooled a bit, but yeah, she was a good-looking baby.” Thinking, Clint added, “She had a toy cuttlefish, too. Something Coulson gave her. There was a horrible pun in the name- and by horrible, I mean not even funny.”

“What was she wearing?”

“You don’t need to test my memory,” Clint pointed out. “I’m not lying. But, since you ask, I think it was something blue. Probably one of those toddler dresses, where you can see the diaper because that is supposedly adorable.”

“That’s more to get at the diaper easily,” Natasha explained.

Nodding, Dr. Banner said, “And you want to, with babies.”

“Little poop machines,” Stark said affectionately. Everyone gave him a look of reproach mingled with horror. Before he could defend himself, Lexi pushed her way into their circle and demanded,

“Have you seen Phillipa?”

“Still can’t find her?” Natasha and Steve both queried together.

Lexi threw up her hands. “Not so much as a ribbon. Really, it’s worse than when Dr. Banner hid in the men’s room.”

“Er,” the doctor began, but she scolded,

“Listen, gorgeous, as much as I would like to hear you try to explain it in your dulcet tones, I don’t have time for your insecurities right now!” Then Lexi bustled off again, leaving the doctor staring after her in awe.

“Well, that was a preoccupied woman,” remarked the billionaire to the world in general. “But you guys are going to let me off for trying to confide in a friend, right?”

“No,” the group said as one.

“Damn.”

While the others continued to harangue the inventor, Clint slipped away from Natasha and went in search of Phillipa. Someone ought to warn her about Lexi. But in the crowd that was forming in anticipation of Ren kicking someone’s backside to Hong Kong and then Timbuktu for good measure, he had a hard time knowing even where he was. Dodging around someone taping out a fair-sized circle, Clint supposed the fight was a done deal. For a moment, he thought he glimpsed her dress, but that turned out to be an elaborate hairpiece on a woman with more piercings than were advisable in thunderstorm country.

Finally, when he was ready to give up, he caught sight of her clearing tables. She was wiping them down with a vengeance. The nearer he came, the more distraught she looked. Unlike many nights, she was not very heavily made up, so he could read her expressions better from a distance. What was the matter?

Behind him, a cheer went up, suggesting that Stark had been pushed into the makeshift ring, and either Jay was not around to prevent Ren from pounding his highest paying customer, or the gay man approved heartily of the exercise. It promised to be a decent spat, and Clint was briefly sorry to miss it. Still, Phillipa was much more important, especially when she looked as though she might burst into tears. Director Fury would not want to hear that his agent had ignored such blatant signs.

“Phillipa?” he asked over the crowd. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not,” she said in a tight voice. “And I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to close out and go home.”

Watching her practically removing the polish from the new tables for a moment, Clint made up his mind. He quickly texted Natasha to let her know his intentions, and then he started silently helping Phillipa. Obviously she needed to go home before she fell apart completely. Before the fight was finished and anyone could ask questions would be best.

She was so upset, she left her tips on the bar, not caring what happened to them. Following her, Clint quickly moved the cash underneath Ren’s personal bottle. Only someone with a real death wish would touch that. Since the bartender was clearly winning from the shouts, Clint trusted their respect to remain healthy.

“Come on,” he said to Phillipa when she was ready to go. “I’ll drive you.”

White and trembling, she came along. Obeying her near-command, he kept quiet. It was not far to her place, and he made no move to get out when they arrived. For a moment he thought she would not, either. When she did open her door, he said softly,

“I hope you’re okay, Phillipa. Call me if you need to talk, understand?”

She nodded, and turned away. Then she turned back and said softly, “Clint, did you know my father well?”

“For years,” he answered.

“Then why didn’t you tell me he didn’t die when I was a little girl?”

In all his time at SHIELD, Clint thought he had become used to shocks. Now he knew he was wrong. Worse, he could see that it was eating her up inside. She had asked it so calmly, but he could see the way her nails were digging into her palms. Looking down at his own hands for a moment, Clint leaned back in the driver’s seat. Sighing heavily, he reached out to touch her arm gently.

“How did you find out?”

“Lexi,” she said shortly. “Why didn’t I find it out from you?”

Hearing the accusation for what it was, Clint explained, “I had orders, direct from the top. Your father was dead either way, and the less you knew, the better- according to my superiors. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

“You don’t have to follow every order.”

“No, I don’t. But just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean I get to disobey unless I am sure, damn sure, that my choice won’t mess everything up. And, I’m a bit of a coward. Knowing this hurts you, and I didn’t want to be the person to do that. I meant what I said: I see you, Phillipa, for the girl you were, for the woman you are becoming. I didn’t want to be the one who took the blush off your happiness, when it was so fresh.”

Looking down, Phillipa asked softly, “Why? Why did he-”

“I can’t tell you that,” he said quickly, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “It’s classified and it would put you in danger. Trust me- as much as you can right now.”

“Thank you,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “For being honest about what you can’t do.”

“Are you going to make it through the night? I could get Natasha to ask Jessica to come over-”

“No. No, I have-” Her eyes looked up toward her apartment. “Walter is at my place.”

“All right. If you need someone, anyone, I’m here. And if you want to file a complaint, I can bring you the paperwork. If it makes you feel better, the director has to look at them, and you can use as many swear words as you want.”

She did not even crack a smile. “No. This goes beyond that, don’t you think?”

He could not argue. She finally got out of the car, and with a quiet farewell, entered her building. Getting out his cellphone, Clint sent a terse message to Natasha. Although he would have preferred to stay, Clint knew he would have to bring this to Director Fury at once, and personally. Echo he could have trusted with such a missive, but it was her night off. The short distance from the club to the dorms meant he could entrust the rest of the watch to Natasha, and Phillipa was not alone. Although an unknown, Clint trusted the way he lit up Phillipa’s face, for now.


	50. What it is to be Man

Well past three in the morning, Phillipa thought, glancing at her alarm clock. Why was the sun not rising any faster? She hated the dark at times like this. It forced her to replay everything she and Loki had said to one another when she had returned, and none of it was pleasant. Given what she had found out from Lexi, how could it have been? And yet, it still cut her inside to hear his voice change, all tenderness and love gone forever. The way his face had moved from dismay to arrogant rage would haunt her nights.

She had had to confront him. There was no way around it, unless she meant to loathe herself for doing exactly what he had done to her. Somehow, along the way, she had lost the ability to lie. If only he had, too.

Colored gray in sorrow, the words flashed and echoed like a thunderstorm of regret:

“I trusted you! You murdered my father and then you- I slept with you!”

“Of your own free will.”

“If I had known this, I wouldn’t have. You killed my dad!”

“He abandoned you! For nearly fifteen years, he left you alone and went on with his life- without you. He didn’t want you! You think he cared about you? He left you. So, yes, I was angry when I saw him and realized what he had done. And I stabbed him. He shouldn’t have died. But I’m not sorry that he did. The way he treated you is unacceptable.”

“Anymore unacceptable than the way you have treated me? You lied to me.”

“How did you want me to put it? ‘Oh, listen, before we go any further, I just need to tell you I killed your father because he abandoned you to your insane mother. Are you all right with that? Good.’ Don’t be such a snivelling fool!”

“I am not snivelling, damn it! You lied, you used me, and now you want to make this all his fault! He must have had a reason!”

“And that reason was that he didn’t love you! You think he had some noble reason because that makes it all better- but people are not like that. They use you, discard you, harm you and make you apologize for what they’ve done. Why should your heroic father be any different? He did not love you. And now you carry his name around like a fucking symbol of his love- you are living a lie! He forgot about you and found happiness without you, and you are the one who pays. You really want to honor that?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Forgive me, but I thought you wanted the truth. And that is the truth, no matter what you want to believe. Stop being such a child!”

“Stop talking to me like this!”

“What do you expect? Look what you have done with your life! All these people around you- they run your life. You have no control, and you are playing at this game as though you like it, but inside you are miserable. You are a wretched, pathetic excuse for a woman!”

“I want you to leave.”

“You would still believe in him- in them? Where were they when you were so alone that you cut yourself open to feel anything but the pain?”

“Where were you? Watching? You never stepped in to help me. But this is all about you, isn’t it? It’s not about you loving me, it’s about me validating you. You don’t want to be alone, but you won’t tell me your real story, because you want me to love you. If you really loved me, you wouldn’t lie, you wouldn’t leave me suffering, and you wouldn’t have murdered my father!”

“So, you believe in him, still.”

“Yes I do! He was my father, and he loved me, and you can’t understand that love goes beyond just being with someone and saying the words.”

“You think all I do is say the words?”

“You have lied to me this whole time. I don’t even know- I don’t even believe that you really love me. You love yourself, and I guess you’re the only thing that matters to you. That’s why you’re so willing to see it in other people, because we all see reflections of ourselves in others.”

“And what do you see in me, then? Do you see your own inability to love and be truthful? I know what lies you told. I know the people you turned from because they tried to get at your heart. I watched you reject all the people who would love you- do not try to lie to me, woman. I am the God of Lies.”

“So, does that mean you never tell the truth? Why should I believe you? What haven’t you lied to me about?”

“Your pathetic questions are beneath me!”

“If you won’t stop lying to me I guess that means I’m beneath you, too.”

“Of course you are! I have no earthly idea why I ever conjured up the notion that you might be worthy of my time. You are so stubbornly married to your wretched state that you would rather cast me out like everyone before you, and go on wallowing in your base existence than lift yourself above this pathetic state. So, be faithful to your misery. I have no desire to stay by one so- so unwilling to see me for what I am. Enjoy your sorrow, and understand that I have no further sympathy. You can rot for all of me!”

He had slammed the door behind him, leaving Phillipa completely alone, more alone than she had been in weeks. Even more painful than the hole that left behind, she knew he was not wrong about her past, and that she had pushed people away to keep them from knowing the truth about her. Maybe she was not married to her loneliness and suffering, but she never found a way to separate wholly from them. Worst of all, she had a deep fear that he was right about her dad. Clint had refused to tell her, and maybe he had been told to keep it quiet, but she dreaded the day she would know that her father had left because he simply did not want her any longer.

Now it was Loki who was leaving her. She deserved it, in a way. Happiness did not come easily to her, and she had confronted rather than asked. Hardly waiting to hear his explanation, she had been the one to jump to conclusions. Just because she was right did not make it hurt any less, nor shift the blame enough.

And what would it matter? How could she trust him? Even if she did find a way, he would never come back. This was her fault. She was the one who was unlovable. First her father, then her mother, and now the only man who had ever looked at her as though she meant something to him beyond sex or a menu- why should the loss of him be a surprise? She knew the pattern: stay long enough to break her heart into a thousand jagged shards when they went away, just long enough to remind her that she was the one who would never have anyone.

And poor Lexi! She knew what this would mean for Phillipa, and she had told her regardless. Knowing that had kept Phillipa from trying to lash out at her for tearing down her dreams. She meant to be a good friend, and Phillipa could only wish Lexi had never chosen her. After all, she was the one hurting Lexi now.

When Lexi had dragged her by the wrist into the supply closet- now apparently defiled- Phillipa had no guess as to what was happening. She could not know, and perhaps even Lexi could not know, what one little accidental touch would cost. But Lexi was not stupid, and she had been in anxious agony, needing to tell Phillipa, but unwilling to spit it all out at once. Finally, with the first gray shades of panic setting in, Phillipa had pried the truth out of her. And her last fragile little hope had died when Lexi had said so wretchedly,

“Oh, I don’t want it to be true, little Phil.”

But it was true, and Phillipa wished that she had been able to die just for knowing that. Even that was denied to her. She had promised Jessica, when she had been caught with a terribly fresh scar, and that had been the end of escape. If she was to be faithful to one person- to break that awful chain of lies- Phillipa would have to go on.

Misery or no, tomorrow would come. And then Monday, where she must force herself to sing again. No matter what little of her heart she could ever recover, the days would go on. People would go on, more so because she had forced Lexi to promise to tell no one about Loki. It was a cruel vow, but Phillipa could not bear anyone knowing what she had almost done; what kind of first-class fool she really was. Her only concession was that Lexi might tell Ren and Jessica, if she could extract the same oath. No more than that; not Skye, nor Dr. Banner, nor even Jay. She had to bear this alone.

Would it be better to give in and break her own promise to Jessica? It might end this awful torment. But she would be leaving behind people who could never understand that she had brought this on herself; people who might believe they had a hand in her unending grief. Yet, where did that thinking stop? Would it always be about everyone else, and never about her own pain? Would she truly forget through living their lives and not her own? Or would that only be true until they left her too?

Should she give up this place? Looking around, she could only see reminders of Loki and the miracle she had thought he was creating for her. What would they be like as time wore on? The wounds were fresh now, vividly bringing up the past, but would the bed, or the shower bring back the ache every time she got into them? Would she be able to let go of the memories brought into the forefront of her mind by the corsets, or the moonstone earrings that she had bought for him?

Should she give up on this fragile dream of becoming a real singer? It was his faith in her that had prompted it all. Without him, she never could have taken the stage to be placed. Even the insistence of Mr. Stark and all of her father’s friends could not give her the confidence he had inspired with pledges of love irregardless of her abilities. And that had been part of the lie.

What was she supposed to do about the Avengers? Or the SHIELD agents that still buzzed around her like flies? Were they only pitying her because she had never known that her father’s love had died so long ago? Was what Clint had said really true? Did it even matter, when she was going to be in pain over this for the rest of her life and no one could possibly tell her what had truly happened?

Phillipa wondered who she was to think that she deserved any more than she had worked for. These people had loved her father, not her. All they had given to her was in his memory, to honor him. Now she was the parasite her mother had so often called her, thriving because of the grief of others. What could she do but let go and hope that somehow the old ways would come back more easily this time? She knew how to bury her pain inside of her and never let it show. She knew- how well she knew- how to surrender her tiny flashes of happiness for someone else to snuff and drown. In time, she could surely remember how to pull away from everything and feel nothing but the emptiness within slowly eating away until she had nothing left but her shell.

According to the doctors, she had to call someone when she felt this way. How could they have spent so much time preparing for that calling and not realize that she could never burden anyone else with this? Who would want to listen to her dying? Who could possibly avoid reminding her that this was her natural state?

As her mother had so often said, when throwing the bottle, or shaking her roughly by the shoulders, Phillipa was not born to be happy. She was born to suffer endlessly for the wrong that was within her. The piece of her that in others called out to be loved, only enticed people to cut and dig and rip out what little remained of her broken heart. Even if it tried to grow back, the moment would come when someone she had believed in would slice deeply, reach inside and pull out all they could. In the end, she would be left with what tiny pieces escaped notice, and only loneliness and sorrow to fill that void. She ought, her mother had so often reminded her, to build a healthier layer of self-loathing for protection. If she did the hating, no one else would have to. Save them the trouble, her mother would shout with a hefty cuff. Hate yourself, she had advised between swigs of a new bottle, and live to spite yourself.

And just now, Phillipa did hate herself. She wondered, looking out into the still-dark sky, when that feeling would end, and when the next person would come to steal away her soul. When and where, she thought in despair, could she ever make it stop?


	51. Chicken Soup

It was a somber group that met the next morning for an early lunch at Stark Tower. While yesterday had been full of promise, today felt overcast and gloomy. However, the weather had no respect for such thoughts, dealing out intense sun without clouds in the brilliant blue sky. Still, around Stark’s table, no one looked very excited about this prospect.

Steve knew the moment he had realized something was wrong. Almost immediately after the fight- which had been beautifully executed by Ren, including the victory rendition of a song called ‘Slut Like You,’ which fit Stark quite well- Lexi had nabbed her friend Jessica, saying as softly as she could that Phillipa had gone home. Even over the buzz of the satisfied crowd, Steve had heard the fear in her voice. It had not taken long for everyone to realize she was not answering her phone, nor to find out from Natasha that an important secret had been uncovered. As far as Steve was concerned, the only good thing that had happened after that was that Ren had gone with Stark already, and therefore they did not dissolve into another fight. At this juncture, Rhodes had pointed out, they would have ended up doing it on a table in front of everyone.

Whether or not this was true, the chilling fact remained: Phillipa knew about her father’s actual death. Everyone seemed to know about her past attempt, but she refused to pick up her phone. Via Natasha, Clint had ordered them to leave her alone. When she was ready, she would call them.

“How did she even find out- is what I want to know,” Stark sighed, putting his phone down.

“If you don’t stop calling her, I will take that phone and drop it over the ledge,” Ren threatened. “And it doesn’t matter how, because if you had told her in the first place, this wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Hush, Ren,” Jessica said quietly. “We both know it would have been pretty much the same, although she might have forgiven you all a little sooner.”

“How exactly were we supposed to tell her? Don’t you think it was bad enough already?”

“But you lied to her,” Lexi mumbled. “Friends are supposed to tell the truth, even when it hurts. Otherwise, how could you trust them?”

Sighing as well, Dr. Banner agreed, “We should have told her. It isn’t really right to protect someone who doesn’t even know what they’re being protected from. And, she needs to be able to trust someone.”

“Is that Walter character with her?” Stark asked, but no one knew.

Leaning on the table, Steve suggested, “I move that we follow Clint’s advice. We’ll give her space for a day or two, and when she calls us, we’ll apologize. Don’t even think about arguing, Stark. We were in the wrong here. She deserved better.”

Hands in the air, Stark asked, “And how were we to know exactly what to do? Phil never told us he had a daughter. Jesus, I halfway think she’s right to believe he skipped out on her!”

“He never struck me as that kind of guy,” Banner said, shaking his head vehemently.

“And you heard what his partner told us,” Steve reminded the billionaire. “His family was threatened, and his superior called it.”

“If it had come from Phil himself, maybe I’d believe it,” Stark grunted. “Look, SHIELD has a whole lot of covering up to do on a daily basis- I bet they even call it housekeeping. Who knows what the real story is, now? The only person who could have told us is dead. And don’t say Fury can, because I don’t trust him not to tell us anything to keep us from getting angry.”

“Whatever his reasons,” Jessica cut in, “That’s not important anymore. All that matters is keeping Phillipa safe.”

Waving a hand, Stark nodded in dismissal. “Yeah, we know, she tried to kill herself once. That fact had crossed our minds, thank you.”

Lexi burst out, “Once?”

The table froze. Slow, insistent horror started to gnaw at Steve’s chest. Was she implying- but there had been nothing in the file on this! Had they left Phillipa alone when she was-

Sighing heavily, Jessica told the group, “She never stopped. She just got better at hiding it. I caught her, a few months ago, cutting herself.”

“But she promised you,” Ren insisted.

“I know she did, and she’s a good kid, which is why I have not broken down her door or smashed in a window. Tomorrow, maybe. But I’m trusting her for now.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stark demanded, shooting to his feet. “We ought to go get her now!”

“First of all,” Jessica said calmly, “Your friends Clint and Natasha are watching her apartment this very minute, as they were ordered to do by Director Fury. If they saw anything even vaguely suspicious, they would be in there in a heartbeat. Clint used to play with her when she was little, so I trust him.”

“How do you even know- and where did you-”

Shrugging, Jessica pointed out, “Everyone knows by now that SHIELD has hired their first mutant. She’s a friend of mine, and I asked if Phillipa’s tagalongs were on the level. If she says so, it’s true.”

“So you’d trust a mutant and not a human?” Stark snapped.

“I trust people I know well. Besides, she owed me a little consideration, and it wasn’t classified information. As for realizing they were the director’s picks, they are both high level officers, and both kept turning up near and around anywhere Phillipa was. It’s not a big leap of logic from there, now is it?

“As for my second point: Phillipa does not want to see any of you, and that should be reason enough for you to stay away. Do you remember the girl you first met? Fragile and lonely? Well, she is that girl, but even more delicate than you can guess. Just because she wasn’t crying on the outside did not mean she was not sobbing hysterically underneath. And she always is. So let her grieve.”

The group remained mostly quiet throughout the meal, which was punctuated only by Ren smacking Stark’s hand away frequently. Possibly the most exciting moment was when she was finally fed up with whatever it was he was attempting to do under the table and she stomped down on his foot. Since her choice of footwear surely weighed five pounds on its own, Stark settled down after that.

Steve headed out on his own once the gathering was over. With the best part of the day ahead of him, he was not entirely certain how to fill it. At times like this, there was only one place that would provide. So he walked briskly along the sidewalk until he came to the Grand Central Library.

There were now perhaps a dozen different ways to locate a book, from the reliable card catalogue to computers with enough options to confuse anyone. Ever since he was a little boy and his mother had brought him in to get his very first library card, however, Steve had known there was only one way to find the very best books. Therefore, he went to the information desk and smiled politely at the librarian perched on a chair before a computer, with a reassuring pile of books to her left.

“Can I help you find something?” she asked brightly, her white hair sweeping back off her face as she looked up.

“I have a friend who is going through a bad time, and I wanted to know what I can do to help her,” Steve explained.

“Oh, the poor thing,” sympathized the old woman. “What kind of trouble?”

“Depression, mostly,” Steve answered, and then lowered his voice to add, “We’re a bit afraid she might hurt herself. She had a bad shock yesterday and she isn’t speaking to us.”

“Oh dear. Well now, there are plenty of phone numbers she can call, and some free clinics too, but as for you, let me see what we have to help you understand a bit what she might be feeling.”

“Thank you. I feel so guilty,” her gentle eyes caused him to say. “I should have told her something, but I didn’t want her to be upset, and then she found out in the worst possible way.”

Fingers typing away on the keyboard, she said kindly, “Now, don’t you feel responsible for how others react. I can tell you, by the time you’re my age, you’ll know you can’t stop other people from feeling things one way or another. Maybe you ought to have been more up front, but you never know which way it will go in the end.

“Here we are. Let’s see if any of these titles suit you.” She listed off a dozen, and then suggested, “You know, you might pick her up a book, too. Something soothing and uplifting. We do have Chicken Soup for the Soul on the shelf. It always makes me feel much better. Especially after I have a good cry over the heart-warming bits.”

“I don’t know if she’s much of a reader.” And it was true: he knew a lot about her friends, but Phillipa was strangely closed off for a girl who had been so happy. Jessica had been right to insist she was still fragile underneath that thin veneer of joy.

“Oh, it’s packed with short stories and easy to read. Trust me, my lad, it’ll do her a world of good to be reminded of the good things still coming to her. Besides, she’s got a friend like you: worrying over her heart. I shouldn’t imagine she’ll be mad at you for very long.”

There was something about the wink she gave him before leading him over to the shelves that mildly appalled Steve. Firstly, Phillipa was Phil’s daughter. He had been a little creepy, but dedicated to the cause of good. As a fellow soldier in a war so vast it did not seem to be there, his daughter was definitely off-limits. More importantly, Phillipa had someone of her own. And that someone brought a light to her eyes that had been long since lost, according to Jessica.

Piled down with books, Steve expected to go home and read through them in the afternoon, and spend the rest of the evening trying to work out what he should be doing to make amends with Phillipa. Instead, as he arrived at his building, the infernal cell phone in his pocket began to buzz and play an obnoxious song about girls with large backsides. Tony had gotten ahold of it, and Steve still had no idea how to fix this new and annoying development. After a slight amount of juggling, he managed to pull the phone from his pocket and accept the call.

“Rogers,” he said, starting up the stairway.

“Hi, Steve,” said Phillipa softly. Halting, Steve considered his next words carefully.

“I’m sorry, Phillipa,” he settled on. “It was wrong of me not to tell you about your dad. I know it hurts that I didn’t tell you. I really am sorry.”

After a pause almost too long for comfort, Phillipa asked in her quiet voice, “Could you come over?”

Steve looked at the books, the stairs, and thought about the long walk from here to her dormitory. “Of course I can.”

So, with the library books still in his hands, he turned around and headed down toward the park. Her building was mere blocks away from it. She could have a picnic there between classes, according to Stark. Not that she was the type to do much in public- shyness was one of the only traits Steve was sure she had. And now, grief.

She answered his knock so quickly, he worried she might have been standing by the door waiting for him. On the surface, she looked all right. Clearly she had bathed recently, and her clothes were fresh. But her eyes were red, and she exuded exhaustion like smoke. The place looked tidy, but it always did.

Looking for signs of her malady hardly helped, since he knew none of them. Perhaps Stark or Barton would have been better able to guess- Banner certainly would. But Steve was the one she had chosen to reach out for. It made him wonder. Did she realize he would not be able to tell if she was so deeply depressed that her life was in danger? Or was it his connection to her father as Captain America? Maybe it was something else entirely. How could he possibly guess?

“Sorry I only have a stool,” she said after a moment. The chair was out of the question. He could not possibly get out of it again, knowing that she frequently had trouble with it herself.

“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted, words coming out flat in the deepest silence he had ever known. It was eerie, the way the emotion and tone died in front of his face. Almost as if she was sucking it all away with her grief. Was there something more to this?

“Er,” he began, and then tried to stiffen his spine. “Is Walter here?”

“No.” And her answer had a texture of emptiness that was normally associated with deep crevasses.

“Did something-”

“We’re not together anymore,” she said baldly, but there was a razor-thin edge of pain to her voice. It pleaded, to Steve’s ear, for him not to ask. Barely, he restrained himself. When had this happened? The other girls had insisted Walter and Phillipa had been deeply in love with one another. God, was this another result of keeping her in the dark?

Guilt and silence threatening to overwhelm him, Steve managed to say softly, “I am so sorry, Phillipa.”

She looked away, her lack of tears making his shame sink in more deeply. “It doesn’t matter, does it? From you, from Lexi- it is what it is, wherever I learned it from.”

“But we should have-”

Hand raised, she halted his clumsy words. “That isn’t something I should have asked of you. You didn’t know what it meant to me, and you didn’t mean to hurt me. At least, that’s what I want to believe. I don’t want to hear any more apologies. You weren’t the ones who left me behind.”

“But Coulson- I mean your father-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she said flatly. “In the end, it doesn’t mean anything. What is done, is over. It’s just over. What does it change, if he was a good man, or he didn’t want to go? He still went. And that was all.”

Steve still tried, in memory of Coulson, who had not struck him as the kind of man to walk away from his own child without remorse. “But intent-”

“Will not change what I lived through. Will never change how I feel. I know you can’t understand me, because you aren’t me. And I’m flawed and I put the blame in the wrong places- I’ve had enough therapy to know I don’t know how to be healthy in grief. But I have things to do and a person others want me to be. Who knows what I’ll become? Maybe I can build up someone I don’t hate to look at in the mirror. But I can’t do that with you dragging up the fact that my father walked out of my life in a lie, and he let it drag out all my life, never intending to change it. I have to hear it enough in my own head.

“So I’d like you, all of you, to leave it be. I’m going to class tomorrow, and maybe after that I can see the people who lied to me because they thought it was for the best. Just- just let him be dead.”

As he listened, Steve knew she was dying because of him. It was the way she could not meet his eyes, in the way her nails were clearly digging into her palms. Written in the tears she was not shedding was the flood being denied by his presence. Her words, falling as his had into the silence between them, were not a bridge between them. They were a wall. Even though she had asked him to come, she needed him to leave. He could not heal her pain. For all that he was superhuman, she was not one he could rescue.

“Is that all?” he asked softly, unable to frame his real question. Almost as if she heard what he was asking, she said distantly,

“When I was a little girl, I wanted to be normal. I tried to imitate all of my peers, trying to fit in. Did you know, I hated pink, but I wore it every damn day, because people told me little girls loved pink? I fought so hard to be like everyone else, and I never knew why. It makes so little sense: I’m not a mutant, or superhuman, or brainy or any of those things.

“But when my father disappeared, I couldn’t be like the other kids. My grief, my mother’s grief; they set me so far apart that I forgot how to connect. And one by one, they turned on me. I was the teacher’s pet, I was stupid, I was poor, I was ugly- anything they could think of to shout at me that my mother didn’t. No matter what I did, I never fit in. And yes, I died a little bit every day. I know how to die that slow death: the kind that never ends, but goes on and on for the rest of your life. I even know how to ease that pain with real, fresh pain.

“But I promised. And if I am ever to crawl out of the hole that life keeps shoving me into, I have to have honor. Maybe my father didn’t, maybe my mother didn’t, but they’re dead and I’m not. So I have to try. You can tell everyone to stand down from suicide watch, okay? I’m not dying today.”

Ashamed of his weakness, but unable to find the right words to say, Steve quietly left as he knew she wanted. The loss of even Phillipa’s hesitant smile honestly terrified him. He had watched so many men die in the war, but he had never seen something like this. It was a death of a soul. Haunted by the void in her voice, Steve tried to find something, anything he could do. Nothing could change the way she suffered, he was slowly coming to recognize.

Phillipa was so lost within her pain, she did not even want to blame the one person Steve felt had a lot to answer for: Director Fury. Why had SHIELD insisted Coulson do something so grandiose as fake his own death? It made so little sense, once he scratched the thin veneer of supposed fear. Even if this could not bring her any relief, Steve was beginning to suspect something lurking in the depths of the lies that was still darker and more dangerous. There had to be a reason to leave her with an abusive and violent drunkard that could not be covered with maternal rights. What in God’s name was really going on?


	52. Illusions

Morose, Loki stalked around his rooms, finding fault with everything, and yet touching nothing. His mind was occupied with the depths he had never suspected of that girl. How dare she question him? Pathetic creature as she was, so willing to be used and ordered about like a servant! Yet she had the gall, the nerve to suggest that he- a god- was less than perfect! She had shown her true colors, had she not? To be devoted to that- that deceitful man she believed was her father; it went beyond the pale, it truly did!

He swept outside, thinking that perhaps the additions he had made for her would be best removed now, before he could turn maudlin. But the sight of the garden, as yet unblooming, only turned his mind to still darker thoughts. By the time it blossomed, his brother would lay claim to her, and Loki would once again find himself in second place. His plans would be for nought.

Yet, to crawl back to her! To apologize! For what? That had been vengeance in her name, whether she understood it or not. It was hardly his fault the mortal had died! Where had been the technology Loki knew SHIELD to possess? No, there could be no blame attached to him for the failings of that organization. He would not bow his head to so presumptuous a creature, besides! How dare she?

He caught sight of a single bud threatening to bloom. His hand reached out to crush it, yet his fingers did not close around it. Pointless gesture- the cold would kill it soon enough. Was it not the perfect symbol of their relationship? Had he not believed, in the weakness she brought him, that his state was poised to change? Had he not perceived, for a moment, a beauty as yet unseen? Just her very touch, the feel of her skin against his own, the way she looked back at him over her shoulder; he had wanted it all to be his, and it had! Now, it would never be, as this flower could not.

Loki left it to face cruellest fate. What did these small reminders truly mean? They were undeserving of his attention! He would have to spend his night plotting a new way to thwart his ‘brother.’

Instead, he found himself facing the mirror. He had avoided peering into it the previous night, and all of the day. What good would it do? Even should he feign remorse, he knew her too well to believe she would take him back at a word. He could never convince her that his actions had not been intended to harm her. How could she not realize that she was his heart’s own; she was his only chance at-

“Loki? Your mood seems low.”

Interruptions at every turn! “I am well enough, Mother.”

Frigga gave her son a look he knew too well of old. “Well enough is not the same as well, my son. Come. You know you may tell me anything.”

“Mother, really,” Loki sighed, even while accepting the inevitability of the outcome. “Very well. It is a trifling matter.”

“I have seen that look before,” Frigga scolded. “You are greatly troubled for a ‘trifling matter,’ my son.”

Loki pondered his use of this illusion of his mother to confide his troubles. Although foolish, he was aware that he needed the solace her face still brought to him. Prying himself from her as he had managed to rip himself from the rest of Asgard would leave too great a hole within himself. Loki would admit it to no one, but he was nearly breathless with fear at what might come to fill that empty space within himself. Had he not already proven susceptible to the lure of evil?

“My. . . distraction had proven somewhat intractable over an incident,” he finally chose to say. Her eyebrows rose.

“Were you at fault?”

“Indirectly, perhaps,” was all he would give. In return, she gave him a look of deep suspicion.

“Did you harm her, Loki?”

Just the thought of her enticed him to glance at the mirror. It was obediently showing nothing to any visitor but a blank surface, but to him the true picture was revealed. Her clothing had changed, but she was still in her bed and showed no sign of much activity beyond it. How she wept! Though silent to his ears, he could almost feel the shake of her shoulders with each sob. What had he wrought?

“Loki?”

Not taking his eyes from the scene, he admitted softly, “I fear I have.”

Hands reaching up to hover over his shoulders, his mother asked him in equally quiet tones, “Do you love her, my son?”

“I could not love anyone else.” True, if not wholly focused on her question.

“Then your path is clear. You must apologize.”

Loki recoiled. “The fault is not mine! I am not the one who deceived her in the first place!”

Frigga frowned at him, a formidable look from one who used to deliver all of his earliest punishments. “If you have caused harm, you must apologize. Love does not bargain, my son. It is raw, straight from within your very soul. It does not, and can not deal in half-measures. I feel I must ask you again: do you love her?”

He remembered with vivid clarity, the whisper, “Then let it be enough.” Against his lips, he could almost feel her passionate kiss. His hands remembered the feel of hers as she shyly but insistently pulled him along to share in her activities. Did he love her? A fool’s question! But he gave the answer required.

“I do.”

Frigga was firm in her advice. “Then you must go to her. For what part you had, beg her forgiveness. Tell her what is in your heart, even if it humbles you before her. Give her all of you, Loki, so that she can give herself in return. Without that balance, it will never be the love you seek. People are not things, my son. Remember that when she speaks to you in anger or grief, lest you lose what you are only just learning to value.”

Struggling with his pride and his desire, Loki nearly chose the only path he knew. But his eyes strayed back to the mirror, and his haughty reply died. This pain was not all his doing, but he could have mitigated its ravages. At times, a judicious application of the truth was indeed the right course.

Looking back at the woman who had raised him with such care, Loki felt moved to say, “I know not why it is presumed that Odin has all the wisdom, when it is you who dispenses it so freely.”

“Tush,” she scolded, but more gently this time. “Go to her, Loki. Any fool could see you do not wish to linger with me.”

Gracing her with a kiss on the cheek, Loki allowed her to dissolve from sight. Time was indeed of the essence. It behoved him to move swiftly to repair the damage those damned heroes had caused. If he was to see this plan to fruition, he would need the girl’s complete trust. And, in all honesty, the loss of her company had ruined his entire day. If nothing else, she was something to look forward to, and real, unlike his illusory mother.

Loki walked over to the mirror. Yes, she was in pain, but he would not go to her too soon. Her friends would be stupid, the world would be cruel, and just as she reached her nadir, he would return to her side. Although he tried, he could not forget what she was to him. When they were as one, he became something he could not be, he had what he could not have. Without her, he knew he would find himself drawn too deeply into the evil that threatened to consume him already. He needed her to give him a light to follow. She belonged to him, and he must have her. Should it be necessary, he would see her in chains before he would lose her!


	53. Watch Over Me

Eyeing the packet before him with distrust, Coulson wondered why a case should come now, and not in the last month. According to the file, the incidents were fresh and required immediate attention. Still, he knew how to read between the lines of the orders; to hear the unspoken commands that it contained. They were being pushed, not requested.

“What did you expect?” May asked, when she was finished reading her own brief. “You pushed too hard, and now you’re getting the return shove. Tell me what’s so surprising about that. Please, do.”

“Well, possibly a tiny bit of recognition for how well Skye is working out,” Coulson suggested.

May snorted. “Right. Because the director was so happy she’s on your team- even as a consultant.”

Before Coulson could make any headway, the current subject peeked in the doorway. She had the look of someone who was hoping she would not be noticed. When he waved her in, she shook her head, but not discreetly enough that Melinda did not catch it.

“You know, you could just ask to speak to him privately,” she pointed out to the hacker. “I’ll take the brief to the rest of the team, Phil.”

“Thank you, May.”

Now that Skye was standing in front of his desk, Coulson noticed that she looked almost ashen. But she said nothing. Instead, she opened her phone and handed it to him. It was a text from Lexi.

“Listen, Skye, little Phil doesn’t want me to tell, but I have to: she knows her dad died in the Battle for New York. And she knows who did it. She broke up with Walter.”

In the red mists of rage, Phil did leave room to wonder why that middle bit was equally important. Mostly, however, his concentration was locked on the real reason this new mission had come today. If Phillipa knew, then Clint had to know, because he had driven her home and Phil’s little girl would not miss to the chance to ask what the hell had been going on. Therefore, Director Fury knew, and this farce in Switzerland had to be the assignment to get him and his team out of the way while he dealt with it.

Because Phil had been an agent for most of his life now, he did not rush right out the door. He patted Skye on the shoulder and insisted that he and Phillipa would both be fine after a while. With great care, he stamped quite a few documents, including their latest reports on the club. Then, deliberately, he left without telling anyone where he was going.

As he expected, five minutes after his departure, May called his cell phone. Calmly, he told her he wanted one last drive in Lola before they headed over the Atlantic. Then, he simply hung up. Of course, she was not at all dim, and would know exactly where he was headed. The question was what she would do about it. They had known each other too long for him to need to guess.

Still, he did park some way from Phillipa’s dorm. There was such a thing as cleverness. Which was why he went directly to her dorm, and up the stairs to her room. She had not even thrown the chain, and that thought bothered him as he slipped into her rooms. Leaving herself vulnerable like this really did suggest her state of mind. By the silence, he knew she was asleep. She was the kind to cry herself into a deep slumber. That had not changed.

Well, this was all very Twilight of him. At least he was not one hundred years older than she was, nor had he been known to do more than turn red and peel thanks to full sunlight. He knew he should not be here, and he was amazed about how little it bothered him. For sixteen years he had been the dutifully wistful father, who wanted her back, but would never take a real risk. Now, he could not help himself. This was her first love, so frail, and so soon lost. Never mind his betrayal- he deserved whatever she thought of him and more. More important was his fear that she would not understand that first loves, while they burned brightest and died the hardest, were only the first. There would be more.

She was curled up on her bed, not snoring, but humming slightly. A bottle of Sleepytime Nyquil suggested the reason she had managed to get any rest. Gently, he tucked her under the covers and pretended not to notice how wet her pillow was. Using his handkerchief, he daubed off the tears on her cheeks, not so easily ignored. Each one cut him deeply, a dark reminder that he loved her more than he wanted to admit, even now. Then he set her alarm for the morning, because life had to go on.

In the room, there was only a stool, the sort which promised to become extremely uncomfortable in under a minute. He leaned against the window frame, staying carefully out of the light. Watching her sleep, he thought how remarkably similar her reaction was to when her mother had died. Same position, same damp pillow- all that was missing was the thumb in her mouth. Well, perhaps she had grown out of that at last.

How badly did it hurt? His abandonment had not exactly been a choice, or so abrupt as she would probably recall. Gradually, over months, he had pulled away. She had tried to pull him back, but her inexperience made it impossible for either of them to truly hold on. Had it been a relief when the director told him he was too close for her safety? Had he been so willing to leave her and all those memories behind, in exchange for the willful ignorance brought on by making himself too busy to check on her? Never mind his petitions to the Council; he had known they would all fail. He had walked out on her, without truly looking back.

She turned over in her sleep and whimpered. Instinctively, he reached out and ran his fingers along her cheek. As she settled, he heard himself whisper,

“It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s here.”

Nearly seventeen years and still, he acted like her father. Why? He had let go all those years ago, and never really reached out again. Yet, here he was. And he had done this before. Nothing the director or the Council said kept him away when she needed him most.

He ought to leave. Even though she was a heavy sleeper, if Natasha or Clint thought there was someone in her room, there was no way she would sleep through the tussle that would ensue. And that would only make things more embarrassing, especially if someone ended up getting injured. That was a conversation to avoid, if at all possible.

But he stayed. The clock marked the hours and he ignored it. By dawn he was supposed to be back on the bus. If he was not, there would be more than hell to pay. Fury knew how to spread his anger around, Coulson was well aware. Yet, he did not budge, merely watching her sleep. Was this his act of penance? So close to her, and yet never as close as they had once been; a painful reminder of what he had given up with hardly a thought.

Could he tell her the truth? All of it? Not the patch and bandage approach of SHIELD, which barely covered the holes at the best of times, but the blanket that encompassed everything. Should he wait for morning, let her awaken with him there, like he should have been all these years? It was not as though she would jump into his arms. He had so much to answer for.

Carefully, he bent over her face, struck by something he had been missing. Three small black dots under her eyes. Stress, he thought. Hopefully they would fade shortly. Very gently, he kissed the top of her head.

“Soon, baby Ani,” he whispered. “Daddy will come home very soon.”

Coulson almost thought about telling Switzerland to deal with their own problems, but what good would he be here? Sadly, he turned away. Then, he thought of something. On soft feet, he went to the front door, threw the deadbolt and set the chain. He could always leave via the fire escape. Whichever of Fury’s spies was in would likely be wanting to speak to him, anyway.

Still quiet, he moved back into the bedroom to open her window. He checked on her, but she was still sound asleep. It was a hot night, and she had always liked a breeze. Poor little baby, he thought. She was so alone. Slipping out of the window, he pulled it back down, leaving a crack for her to get fresh air through.

“You are a complete stalker, did you know that?” Natasha asked as he stepped off of the ladder.

“And what does that make you?”

“Paid.”

“Good point.”

“Want a better one?” Natasha inquired, pointing back towards the street. “You parked illegally. If I hadn’t convinced the officer you were desperately in need of a restroom and would be right back, your car would have been towed. So now, by my count, you owe me twice.”

“Twice?”

“Once for the car, and once for not bashing your idiot head in. She doesn’t need you butting in right now, Coulson. Let her get a grip on herself.”

With a shrug, he replied, “She might not need me, but I needed to see that she was all right. Did you know she took Nyquil?”

“I gave it to her, courtesy of Dr. Simmons. She has to rest if she’s going to face classes tomorrow.”

Clucking his tongue, Phil waved a finger at her, “But you didn’t set her alarm.”

“Since you did, I don’t have to. It’s nearly four, by the way. So get in your car, and go back to your job. You know she’s being taken care of.”

He was not certain he wanted to dignify that with an answer. “I’ll send you some chocolate. Just tell me one thing, Natasha.”

“Maybe,” was her noncommittal reply.

“Tell me they’re keeping Hank out of this. That really is the last thing she needs.”

Leaning insolently on the hood of Lola, Natasha gave him an eyebrow. “You really think he’s got any leverage after that incident at the hospital?”

“The Council has always been keen on his gadgets,” he reminded her.

“The gadgets maybe, but not the. . . experiments. Relax, Phil. She’s fine.”

“She isn’t. And she won’t be,” Phil said softly as he got into his car. “How could she be?”


	54. A Proposal

Remembering how to empty herself was harder than Phillipa had expected. This morning she had awoken strangely serene, as if sometime in the night she had been reassured that everything would be all right and believed it. She had given the bottle a glance, and wondered what they were putting in Nyquil these days.

Serenity did not last. History of Music promised to be a lesson in extreme boredom, with a splash of entertainment provided by the one girl in class who loved Twilight too much to realize that their professor loathed it. In particular, he did not wish to be reminded in any way, shape or form that he shared a name with its “protagonist.” There was definite potential for bloodshed.

It should have been amusing, but Phillipa could not share it with anyone. Her classmates were busily texting away under their desks, and once again she felt detached from everyone around her. How did they all afford those toys?

Then, the moment she opened her own door, the phone began ringing. She thought about letting it ring, as she had yesterday, but she gave in. Just hearing the voice of someone who cared, or pretended to, should be enough to stop the gloom threatening to settle in. Why hadn’t she grown used to it all yet?

“Phillipa, my precious songbird, how are you?”

“Hi, Jay.” She tried to bite back the sigh, but it was there before she could help herself.

“That bad, my little dove?”

“It’s nothing,” she replied quickly, amazed by how automatically that old lie came to her lips. “I mean: it’s nothing I won’t get over.”

For a moment, Jay was silent, and then he continued on brightly, “Then I suppose you will get over my request even more swiftly. I confess, Phillipa, darling, that I hired another girl to take your place- in the restaurant, I mean. Unfortunately, while some people might be cursed with two left feet, she has not even the slightest motivation to change, nor your sweet smile to make up for it. So I gave her the old boot.”

Resigned, Phillipa said, “Yes, I’ll cover her shift tonight.”

“Oh, you devious little mind reader, you. You are a perfect doll, my dear. From three until midnight, and I’ll pay you as though you were working the stage. Don’t even think to argue. I was so foolish as to wander into a book store yesterday, and I know what prices are- intimately, you might say. A heart-rending experience, it truly was.”

She let him carry on with his monologue, comforted by the inanity of his conversation masking his honest concern. Possibly the best thing about Jay was that he never forced anyone to be happy. He found it offensive, and came down like a supertanker on any customer so rash as to suggest that one of the girls smile. Generally taking them by the ear, he would walk them to the door with the injunction to learn the meaning of “Goth.” To the girls he had said more than once that such commands implied an intimacy none of the customers, no matter how much they tipped, had earned and he would not have it in his club. Even Tony Stark did not dare, Claire tended to say with justifiable awe- especially now that Phillipa knew the billionaire.

“Now, before I completely run your phone bill into the skies, do tell me that you have no classes tomorrow,” Jay said, the question almost lost in Phillipa’s reverie.

“Huh? Oh. I have lessons at ten, so it’s fine.”

“Lessons, my dove? That sounds important.”

Shrugging reflexively, Phillipa had to remind herself to say, “It’ll be fine. I’ll get enough sleep.”

“That was hardly my point, darling. But who am I to judge your sleep needs? Besides, you will need the cash, I fear, my heart.”

Making her excuses as politely as possible, Phillipa nevertheless could hardly wait to hang up after that endearment. It was like a knife, after what Loki had called her. Still, she agreed to another big night on Friday, like a complete idiot. As if she was at all recovered enough to sing for a crowd. Tomorrow was going to be difficult and here she was ladling it on.

She ought to have said Saturday, she thought as she changed her clothes mechanically. Without the Avengers and SHIELD agents hanging over her like vultures, she had absolutely no plans. And there would be no one waiting for her at home either. Slamming that thought aside, as well as the realization that she had not yet eaten, Phillipa grabbed her keys and purse and headed for the bus stop. She ate too much, anyway.

Seeing the club from the street, she had to wonder how it was always so crowded. The façade was old and boring. Little more than a simple black awning announced the entrance. Yet, there was already a line for the club. People would also move in from the restaurant. It was more than simply word of mouth, surely.

The regulars gave her nods and grins, which she did her best to acknowledge. Being here was giving her a strange sense of longing- no, not strange; she knew exactly what it was about. He had been here for her debut, and every performance after. She almost expected to see him at the table in the back, with a smug look and a glass of brandy. Then his eyes would find hers, and she would feel- nothing, she would feel nothing. This reminiscing helped no one. Fervently, she tried to stamp down hard on it all. Loki was gone. That was all there was to it.

Seeing the disaster area that was to be her section freed her from thinking about it. She was going to have a real fight to clean it. Quickly, she moved to dress, although the grey dress caused a momentary pause. Gritting her teeth, she threw it on and braided her hair quickly. With only eyeliner and lipstick, she probably looked worse than everyone else would, but she had other worries.

Shoving tables back into line, and then attacking them with a cloth and cleaner, Phillipa actually felt accomplished. Whoever Jay had hired knew about as much as a toddler when it came to maintaining order. No wonder she had been tossed out. Even Phillipa had been more organized when she had come here to work. A glance at the clock told her she only had a few minutes before opening. Hurriedly, Phillipa set out candles, menus and chairs in their proper places.

Just before the doors could open, someone laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You are just this side of amazing, did you know that?”

“Amazingly blind, I suppose,” Phillipa said before she thought.

Jessica leaned in to place a light kiss on her cheek. “You weren’t the only one who was fooled, little girl. Without Lexi, none of us would have guessed it. I still have a hard time, myself. I can’t imagine how it feels to you, and I’m sorry we couldn’t protect you better.”

“Maybe I ought to learn to defend myself,” Phillipa responded. “If I hadn’t let him in so easily-”

“Hush,” ordered Jessica. “None of this is your fault. Everyone should be able to fall in love.”

“Now, my precious gemstones, the doors are open. Just look at that milling crowd,” Jay directed from behind them. As he came around to the front he clucked his tongue. “As I suspected. Come here a moment, dearest Phillipa. A little care for your appearance goes a long way.”

Deftly, he combed out and then braided her hair more tightly, twirling it up into a bun. Then he brushed on another layer of lipstick of a different color, and pinched her cheeks to bring out a flush. Tucking the container into her top, he admonished,

“Please do have Erin teach you about your best colors on Friday, my dove. You are such a pretty child, and your ham-handed approach does it no justice.”

Slightly chastened, Phillipa agreed, then quickly went about seating customers. To her surprise, Phillipa was the one who brought the most important guest to a table in her section. Jen Cameron, face of the forgotten mutants, requested her attention personally. With her fiancée, Echo, they took a small corner table. Neither needed to see the menu, but Jen did ask about the specials. Still, she chose a relatively simple selection. Both asked for the same wine, but not a bottle.

Couple dynamics had always made Phillipa curious, but this was something else. They said almost nothing, and never touched. Yet there was an aura of love that was tangible from across the floor. No matter who was performing, they ignored the stage completely, eyes only on one another.

At one point there was a break between sets and dance music, which was not usual, but there were technical difficulties with the new software or something. With a rueful grin to her fiancée, Echo excused herself to assist. Bringing Jen another pitcher of water, Phillipa would have simply moved on aimlessly to look for another customer, but Jen directed a cool comment to her.

“I heard you found out about your father.”

Almost winded, Phillipa glanced away. “Yes.”

“A shame he couldn’t tell you the truth. It was for your safety, of course. But then, SHIELD does everything for our safety.”

“I suppose so,” Phillipa murmured, looking for a polite way out of this conversation. With sharp and still somehow cold insight, the mutant advocate noted,

“You don’t like the policy.”

“Well- I mean, they probably know more about it.”

Toying idly with her empty wineglass, Jen commented, “And yet, do they? Being opinionated is not the same as being knowledgeable.”

“I can’t say,” Phillipa answered, slightly annoyed and largely confused.

“Perhaps you feel you cannot,” Jen agreed conditionally, and then dismissed the subject all together. “I have a proposal for you.”

“Not about SHIELD,” Phillipa immediately countered.

“Hardly. I simply wish you to assist me in a small conundrum.” Jen rested her chin on her folded hands. “You see, I have an event coming up- charity, of course. I wish a singer to entertain those who believe their money is more important than others’. Unfortunately, the cause has turned off a great many people who I would normally consider.”

“And I come into this how?”

“Because I wish you to be my replacement singer.” Seeing Phillipa flabbergasted, Jen added, “You are a phenomenon, you realize. No, you are modest enough not to know that. If that idea upsets you, look at it this way: you are new. And there is nothing the very rich and very snobby enjoy more than being on the cutting edge. That is a simplification, of course, but nonetheless frequently true.”

Grasping at straws, Phillipa managed to find one very important question on her lips. “Why did the other people drop out?”

Smiling for the first time, Jen explained, “Because the benefit is for the Morlocks.”

More than a thousand damn good reasons to say no flooded Phillipa’s mind. Firstly, people who associated with Morlocks were always mutants. They had no welcome in them for regular humans. More importantly, humans who allied themselves with those outcasts almost always turned up dead. Even their fellow mutants had similar problems. The most immediate concern, however, was her own suitability to the task.

Yes, she had won herself a position at MSM, and yes, she was doing well enough here. Still, she was surely not what the very refined upperclass was looking for. They wanted opera and-

“You’re thinking that I’ve chosen the wrong person,” Jen noted. “But I know I have the perfect one. Join us on your dinner break and I’ll tell you why.”

It puzzled Phillipa that she did not turn the advocate down flat. Jen Cameron was trouble, for all that she seemed scientific and rational. People who crossed her did not go long before regretting it. Beyond that, her agenda, so everyone said, was known to her alone. Not even her fiancée knew what the whole picture was.

Still, Phillipa found herself at their table with her salad. Being watched, she tried to avoid picking at her food. Echo wandered away to “bother her friends.” With Ren at the bar, Phillipa had to wonder if that was entirely safe. But her attention was drawn away by Jen tapping the table lightly.

“Now then. My reasoning: you know mutants, and something of our unique issues. Further, you have personal experiences that align with the particular conditions of the Morlocks themselves. Sympathy is important to this concert. What I want- no, what I need from you is a guided tour through the hearts and lives of these Morlocks. In song. Through the arts, so many discover what they refuse to learn in prose. Your own talent, which you simply cannot deny, is to convey what you have felt, for others to feel themselves.

“You have an open heart. I want you to use it on behalf of those most people never see after they leave society. No facebook, no twitter, and in most cases, not even a glimpse on CCTV. Unlike you, they have no identity in the world’s eye any longer. They have been lost, forgotten, and hardly anyone wants to change that.”

“You do.”

Jen studied her face. “Yes, I do. So, will you help me?”

To her bemusement, Phillipa heard herself reply without a trace of hesitation, “Yes.”

“You don’t want to know about terms? Or your pay?”

“It’s charity, isn’t it?”

Smiling crookedly, Jen remarked, “Now I see why Jay calls you a darling baby. I’ll give you the check for your services at the event. It’s from my account, so not connected to the charity itself. If you want to negotiate-”

“No,” Phillipa said firmly. She knew about as much about astrophysics as she did about her pay scale.

“Then I’ll have Tony Stark vet my amount,” Jen decided. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think I had treated you unfairly. I’d like your song list by next Tuesday, so that I can find proper accompanists. I’ll arrange practice sessions around your schedule, so don’t be too busy. And I will handle the venue and etcetera. Something slightly more classy than this setup is called for. Oh yes, and I’ll buy you a dress.”

“But I-”

“A college student, even an MSM college student on a generous full-ride scholarship from Tony Stark, cannot afford what you’ll need to match the snobs. Since you’re going to complain about it to soothe your pride, I’ll take the cost out of your check.”

Effectively silenced and, in a sense, shackled, Phillipa went back to her shift. Strange that Echo had been away for the entire conversation. She did not appear to prefer any company to Jen’s. Stranger still that Phillipa had stupidly agreed to everything. Feeling slightly dim, she decided to keep it to herself for a while. Maybe Jen would realize that Phillipa had little to offer the Morlocks, even if it was her voice on the table and nothing more. How could she possibly create a playlist for them? Now she had to do that and more. Fantastic.

One question bubbled away in the back of her mind throughout the rest of her shift. Finally, as she was scrubbing down her tables, it surfaced. Why was she helping the Morlocks? No one, a very nasty thought pointed out, had helped her. Pausing with cloth dripping over the edge, Phillipa was aghast at herself. She sorted through her thoughts to find the answer.

Kneeling to wipe up her spill, she knew why she agreed so easily. She did not want to be the one who could have helped, but chose not to. Yes, no one had been there on her side when she needed them most, but she could not use that excuse comfortably. Even once she had cut out all her pathetic feelings, she would never give up feeling for other people. Otherwise, she would become a monster.

On the basis of that reasoning, when Lexi shyly offered her a ride home, after avoiding her all night, Phillipa felt obligated to accept. Even though the mutant had torn apart the fragile illusion of love and acceptance, Phillipa knew Lexi felt horrible about the need. She had been protecting Phillipa in a way only a true friend would. And while they drove, Phillipa could play “What The Hell Have I Sat In?” It was practically Lexi’s favorite car game, which possibly explained all the mysterious stains that disappeared and reappeared over the months. Also, it gave Phillipa something to think about aside from her impending spectacular failure.


	55. Secretary

Technically, Pepper should not have been in Tony’s lab. After all, they were not together any longer, and he even seemed to have an infatuation who would have the mettle to put up with him for a month or two. But the idiot had left his phone in her office, again, and it was ringing like mad. Without it, she would have to ask JARVIS to contact him, and that was not worth the aggravation of having Tony hang out in her office. At least in his lab, he would have explosions to distract him.

Typically of the man, he was not even in. Fine then, she would leave his phone there and let him deal with the buzzing. Something caught her attention as she was leaving: a new toy. She had had no idea Tony had a centrifuge. And what for? Deciding that she could snoop, Pepper went over to his worktop and found a mass of his usual incomprehensible notes. Sorting through them, she narrowed in quickly on what he was up to.

“JARVIS, how many times do I have to ask you to let me know when beautiful women break into my lab? I’m not even wearing cologne.”

“The door was open,” Pepper said. “What is this?”

“JARVIS, I know I have told you to stop thieves from rummaging through my research. Terrible things could happen to them.”

“Sir-” began the hapless AI, but Pepper cut it off.

“Answer the question, Tony: what is this?”

“Well, it’s paper with ink on it-”

Pepper shook the file at him. “This is Phillipa’s genetic profile, isn’t it? What the hell are you doing violating her privacy like this?”

“Now, now. It’s not violating her privacy if she left her genetic material all over my property, is it?”

“Actually, sir-”

“JARVIS, can it.”

“Canning it, sir.”

Tony approached his workspace, but Pepper back away, still holding the papers. “Why are you rifling through her DNA, Tony? Or is she just the latest one? Are you decoding everyone? Looking for more traces of whatever it is that EXTREMIS did to me? Tell me!”

“Don’t be so dramatic. Not everything is about you. There’s a perfectly good reason for this.”

“Which is?”

“I wanted to,” said Tony with a shrug.

“God, that is so- so you! Unable to give a real answer!”

Tony put up his hands. “Look, Pepper, you don’t want to be involved in-”

“Oh, so you do realize you’re breaking the law, not to mention her trust! Really, after finding out that her father had lied to her, you’re going to lie to her too? Because that is going to go over so well! Phil is dead, but you-”

“You want to know? Really? Fine. Phil’s not her father. There is no genetic match between them. None.”

“What are you talking about?” Pepper demanded, slowly lowering the notes. “Phil was-”

“Not her father. There is absolutely no chance. So, if he skipped out on her, he might have had a good reason to after all. Now what you should be asking now is: am I going to tell her?”

“No. No, no, no- Tony, you can’t!”

“What happened to telling the truth? Doesn’t she deserve to know-”

Pepper threw the notes at him in anger. They fluttered uselessly away, as paper usually did. It was the best way to shut him up, though. With him talking like that it was always so hard to think. Now she was having her thoughts and it would be his turn to listen.

“Doesn’t she deserve to know that Phil abandoned her just because she was someone else’s baby? Yeah, Tony, that is a great idea,” she said sarcastically. “Just when she is starting to recover from the shock of the abandonment itself, you’re going to march in there and liberate her from the idea that he was at least her father. You are going to take away that connection- and you know what? You’re going to make it all her fault. He left because she wasn’t his, so you say. Well that is going to make her feel just peachy!

“This has always been your problem: you are so focused on the present- and only the present you want! All you can see is the points where you make a discovery and where you are a hero and you have no idea what passes in between them. You can’t comprehend that your triumphs are someone else’s failures and losses!

“But you’re the great Tony Stark, so go ahead. Go prove her to be a real orphan who was deserted twice over- because who the hell knows who her real father is or where he even is for that matter! Or did you figure that one out already? Oh, you didn’t, did you? Because you never think things through! You think your vision of the world is the way things really are.”

“Is this about me not spending enough time with you? Because I get that you left because-”

“I left,” she clarified, “because you are too damn stupid to realize how scary your lifestyle is- count up how many times you and I have almost died because of your stupid arrogance sometime! It takes two hands, believe me! And I left because you just cannot keep your promises. Maybe that’s because you promise things you can’t give, but you still fail! Do you remember what you said to me when we dealt with Killian? No more suits! But what do you have in this room?”

Holding up his hands again, Stark said, “SHIELD needed Iron Man-”

“And I needed you! Not Iron Man, not a room full of prototypes, not another giant stuffed animal when I told you the first one was awful enough, and absolutely none of the nightmares about EXTREMIS that I had to face alone because you were down here tinkering instead of in bed with me!”

“I admit that may have been a mistake, but-”

“There is no but here, Tony. You weren’t there, and you didn’t keep your promises. I am not a strong enough person to handle this alone, which you ought to know by now- but again, you have this picture of the world and god forbid anyone not fit it, because you damn well will not notice! Or worse, you’ll try to change them to fit. That’s why you checked Phillipa’s DNA, isn’t it?”

“No one looks that much like their parent, Pepper. Come on! Even you have to admit that was strange. It was unreal.”

“Unreal for you, maybe. What happened to accepting people for what they are? What happened to common decency, for that matter? She deserves better than you violating her privacy and stampeding over her life with your steed of Truth.”

“Good imagery. Can I have my turn now?”

“No. Because that is all Mr. Stark.” As a parting shot, she added from the doorway, “It’s not all about you, either. And you had better believe that Clint is getting a phone call in two minutes. I suggest you destroy those notes and hide anything you don’t want to turn over to SHIELD.”

Stalking out, Pepper scolded herself. She knew she would get upset if she ran into him, and here she was in his snare yet again. Honestly, she should just quit. She had enough saved up to go live somewhere quiet, with no one to guess who she was or what she had been through. Yes, it was time. Tony Stark could clean up after himself for a change.


	56. Waking Dreams

Phillipa nearly tripped on the small box in front of her door in her haste to get inside, somewhere, anywhere, away from all these cheerful people who had such wrong ideas about her. Without looking at it, she snatched the package up. A quick twist of the key and doorknob later, and she was safe again. Safe from being directed to be happy at least, an act which twisted her insides uncomfortably. What she was not protected against, although she had not been expecting it, was intrusion. The box was from Loki.

Very narrowly avoiding the trash, it sat smugly on her counter. Five minutes of steadfastly ignoring it did nothing. The white container obviously needed to be opened. Even a further removal of herself to the bathroom did not prevent her from thinking of it.

Giving in at last, all the while thinking how little anything it held could change what had happened to them, Phillipa returned to the kitchen. The square package remained where she had left it. Resisting the temptation to tell Loki to come out from wherever he was hiding, she opened the lid. Inside, resting delicately on white satin was a golden necklace with more moonstone drops hanging from it. Like the belt, it was lovely and compelling. Before she even thought of touching it, her eyes caught the note on the inside of the lid.

His handwriting was ridiculously elegant, as she had noticed before. It almost seemed as though he drew his letters rather than wrote them. Careful deciphering revealed to her the single sentence, “Forgive me, Ani.”

“Ani?” she questioned aloud, softly. What did he mean by calling her Ani?

Abruptly, Phillipa experienced a terrifying wave of déjà vu. It was hard to breathe, and she felt panicked for no reason she could discern. Pushing herself from the counter she ended up falling back onto her butt. When she looked up, she did not see the kitchen.

Instead she saw the gray of a sidewalk in front of her, heard someone shouting words she did not understand, felt the brush of a leather jacket edge over her head. Boggled, she simply stared at the lawn lined walkway before her until someone pulled her into their arms. The smell, a mixture of Old Spice, car leather and metal, told her exactly who it was. Her father was holding her. But that would have been years ago. He was dead.

“Ani, are you all right, baby?” she heard him ask frantically, as if from a great distance. Was this a memory? Why was he saying Ani, when he had always called her-

“You must take care of her, Phil Coulson. Take care of our little girl,” said another voice, this one melodious but weak. And hauntingly familiar. It sent a shock through Phillipa, and she could not help but turn to look, memory or not.

The impression of blue and gold on a white background was mingled with a rhythmic pounding until the whole image dissolved as suddenly as it had formed. Dazed, still breathing rapidly, and turned inside out by confusion, Phillipa realized someone was knocking on her door. Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet and wobbled to the door. What had happened?

Through the peephole, she saw Professor Cassidy standing in the hallway, obviously waiting on her reply. Confused- even more so than just a moment ago- she fumbled with the chain. Then she turned the doorknob mechanically.

Professor Cassidy started talking the moment she opened her door. “I forgot to say- merciful Father, what has happened to you, lass?”

“What?”

“You’re crying, lass. Or didn’t you know it?”

Putting a hand to her cheek, Phillipa felt warm wetness on smooth skin. “Oh.”

“Is something wrong?” Professor Cassidy looked genuinely concerned, and Phillipa wondered if there was. But if she was going insane, there was no way she would tell someone she admired as much as him.

“I was reading a sad book. I guess I got a little caught up in it. Um, did you need something?”

Peering closely, he nevertheless only remarked, “Must be quite the story. I forgot to tell you that on Monday we will start an hour later. I’m preparing Lin to audition for a part in a Broadway show. He needs all the hours he can get, but I can’t think of a more deserving lad. So come at eleven of the morning.”

“Right,” Phillipa concurred. All the same, it seemed like the sort of thing he could have called about, she considered. True to her sinking suspicion, he added,

“And I expect you’ll need some hours soon. I hear Jen Cameron picked you to headline her charity concert.”

“Er.”

He handed her sheet music. “Here’s a song to represent most of the hidden ones’ feelings o’ things- especially about the rest o’ us, I fear. Something o’ a- what did the lass call it? A culture clash. It’s popular enough, and powerful too. Maybe a little over the top, but there’s a lot of ill feeling going ‘round. I expect they’ll want to feel represented.”

“Okay,” she said stupidly. Damn it, she kept giving in to everything lately. When was she going to grow a goddamn spine? It was not as if she had no songs on deck!

Fortunately, Professor Cassidy did not press her any further. Who knew what idiocy she would agree to next? Unwilling to look again at the box and the strange name that had triggered such- well, madness- Phillipa looked down at the music. She hummed the melody thoughtfully, a talent she was grateful to have in the long years she had been without any instrument. It had taken more than a year for her to translate music like this properly. In her early piano classes she had seen other students do it so much more swiftly, and with fewer mistakes. Still more proof that people were crazy to think she had talent.

With nothing better to do, she started putting the lyrics to the melody. “I will not make the same mistakes that you did. I will not let myself cause my heart so much misery. I will not break the way you did; you fell so hard. I've learned the hard way to never let it get that far.”

After going over it a few more times, feeling more depressed at the accuracy of the lyrics to her own situation, she allowed herself to move on to the chorus. “Because of you I never stray too far from the sidewalk. Because of you I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt. Because of you I find it hard to trust not only me, but everyone around me. Because of you I am afraid.”

Well that was about enough to release the waterworks. Damn it. She wanted something else. Thinking of the songs Lexi had so adeptly loaded onto her USB drive and plugged into her tablet, Phillipa turned the little monster on. She called it a monster because it was intensely perverse about what she could and could not make it do. Stark had promised to fix it for her, someday.

There was one song with a nice beat that she wanted to listen to. Of course it reminded her of Loki, but at the moment the refrigerator could remind her of Loki. After fighting with the little monster about what she did not want to hear, she managed to get the file to play. Then she had to deal with the volume, which mysteriously turned itself to ear-bleeding levels every time she tried to listen to music.

“I swear, I will get a hammer!” Phillipa growled, fighting the thing to not change the volume each time she pressed play. Magically, as with so many machines, the threat seemed to fix the problem.

Probably this was more Emilie Autumn than was, strictly speaking, good for her. But she finally had all of her CDs on the USB drive and she would be damned if she was not going to make up for the five months she had gone without. Besides, while she listened to 306, she could pick her playlist for Friday. She only had three days left.

There was no specific thematic request from Jay, but as she scrolled down her list, Phillipa found a grim smile playing over her lips. She did not need a suggestion. Loki and his misaddressed box would make the perfect catalyst.


	57. Warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The playlist for Friday Night is here: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-dJN3CYAC1naJoj8CRWAjHTRKkg6d_w0

“Okay, seriously, Domino, little Phil needs an intervention. She has been listening to Emilie Autumn for six hours!”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Jessica scolded.

“I am not exaggerating! Ask him!”

Clint narrowed his eyes at Lexi, but he ought to have known better than to give her the information she had been asking for in the first place. Still, someone facing the depth of trouble Phillipa was in needed her friends. Also, that musician was impressively depressing. According to the internet she was bipolar, which did not bode well for his perception of her sanity. Phillipa was planning on singing something by her tonight. Lexi had explained that was well out of character. Little Phil might like the music, she had insisted, but Lexi was the one who sang it.

“Where is Phillipa?” Clint asked, rather than answer the spying implication.

“She’s getting dressed,” Jessica answered curtly. “Lexi, I want a word.”

“But I like living!” protested the smaller woman.

“Lexi!”

Rather than intervene, Clint leaned back in his chair and looked toward the entrance. Stark had sworn everyone would be there tonight, if only to see Phillipa. Of course, the inventor was not exactly happy with Clint, but neither was the marksman particularly happy with him. Some things were meant to stay secret, damn it. If the inventor so much as got within three feet of Phillipa without Clint being present, he was not going to enjoy the consequences.

So far, Clint had not seen Phillipa either. He was trying to pretend he ought to have expected it. But she was slipping. Ignoring the descent into despair could be fatal. She had already nearly killed herself once, with unexpected vehemence for such a timid girl. According to the team’s rumor mill, it had become a habit. Clint did not want to be the one to miss that detail again. He needed her to trust him.

Yes, he was spying on her. He had his orders, and he was not going to mess this up the way the Director had years ago. Maybe it was not socially acceptable, but the girl needed someone!

“If you keep doing that, your face will freeze that way.”

“Too late,” Clint told Natasha.

“I thought so. Could you be less of a gargoyle when she comes out? She’s already mad enough at us without having to look at your brooding face.”

Clint raised an eyebrow at her. Typically, she ignored him to look down at her cleavage as she adjusted her dress. All right, it was a sight to make the roof of any man’s mouth go dry, but she did not need to be distracting him- was that a tattoo?

“What’s that?”

“Temporary.”

“No, I mean is it a rose or-” Clint leaned in closer. “Really, what is that thing?”

“And here I thought you were just another robot,” interrupted Tony Stark cheerfully. “But, like the rest of us, you can’t wait to bury your face in a nice pair of tits.”

“She has a tattoo.”

“Really?” Tony started to lean forward, and then stopped. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m only interested in one set of tits at the moment.”

From by the stage, Lexi called, “Nice try, Tony, but she’s in the dressing room and can’t hear you!”

“Well, shit. All that hard work saying that with a straight face, right down the drain. It's enough to make a grown man weep, I tell you.”

“There is something wrong with you,” Steve noted, giving Clint and Natasha a nod.

Cheerfully, Tony agreed, “Yep. I don’t have a drink.”

As he headed off for the bar, Lexi came over with a tray and a huge grin. This probably did not bode well for Dr. Banner. There was something slightly terrifying about the girl, it was true. She had so much manic energy for someone so small. Then again, her mutant ability could be extremely useful for SHIELD- assuming that the Director could get over his intense dislike of the subspecies.

Speaking of cleavage, Clint caught sight of Echo at the entrance. Currently tastefully dressed, Clint had to wonder if she moved her jumpsuit zipper so far down at work just to throw off everyone who spoke to her. It certainly tended to work on Agent Clark.

As ever, Echo was with her fiancée. When or if she and Jen were going to tie the knot officially was an office bet of epic proportions. Some people had nothing better to do with their time. Besides, Clint had a solid $50 on the notion that if they did no one would find out.

“Can I get you something?” Lexi asked cheerfully, “Or are you busy ogling other women?”

“What do you have on tap?” he asked, rather than answer the charge. While she listed the beers and ciders, he took in her costume, mentally comparing it to what Phillipa might wear.

As usual, Lexi wore blue, but tonight it was more black than color. Her blue satin top was covered in a black lace overlay, with a white underskirt edged in the same lace, and a sheer black top skirt gathered up to one side. To go with it, she had black boots full of exotically shaped cut-outs and ribboned stockings. He could just make out a garter shaped like a butterfly.

This, however, was just the start of her accessory list. As always, she wore gloves. Tonight they were elbow length, with a fine bracelet of dark metal on her left wrist. On her throat, she had a heavy choker, of the same dark metal as the bracelet with white cut glass gems hanging from it, plus lace to match the dress and ribbon like on her stockings as well. If that was not enough, she had an amazing blue feathered thing on her head, with more ribbon and lace, and a dark metal-edged white fake gemstone.

After choosing a dark beer to nurse, Clint wondered what Phillipa would end up in. The owner of the club had some strange tastes, but they were usually predictable. Still, it might be nice to see her in more normal clothing. Or color.

“Amazing fascinator,” Natasha murmured to him.

“Is that what that thing on her head is?”

Before she could reply, Stark came back from the bar looking like he had seen a ghost. He did not even make a quip. Natasha eyed him, and then leaned forward, displaying more of the tattoo, but not enough for Clint to make out what it was clearly. Stark failed to take note of her cleavage. Pursing her lips slightly, Natasha asked,

“Something wrong?”

“Only my worst nightmare,” Stark groaned. “Have you seen who is at the bar, drinking with my girlfriend?”

Clint glanced over, and then let out a slow whistle. Firstly, he had not even been aware that Ren was friendly enough to drink with anyone else. Nor had he known that Pepper Potts could put away as much liquor as was suggested by the shot glasses in front of her. And since when had the inventor believed he could get away with calling Ren his girlfriend? It must be the despair.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Steve said, taking a sip of his soda.

“No man should have to face both his girlfriend and his ex sitting together, drinking, and talking about him.” Stark put his head in his hands. “I’m doomed.”

“Who is doomed?” asked Phillipa. Along with the rest of the table, Clint looked up and stared.

More normal or colorful the gown was not. But it was stunning. Completely white, it was floor length and featured a train and impressively long, trailing sleeves. It had two necklines: one for the heavy white lace design than scooped around her collarbone to cover much of her chest and shoulders, and a sweetheart neckline for the actual dress itself. The white lace mingled with sheer white gauze on her sleeves, draping magnificently. Patterned heavily with raised flowers and vines and et cetera, the lace included silver sparkling stones in the center of each flower. Clint was no expert, but it seemed to him the sort of dress that someone made and retired on.

With her hair pulled back into an elegant bun, and her face carefully painted to maximum effect, Phillipa was definitely a vision. To make it more Gothic, so Clint presumed, she also wore a black light gauze veil with delicately attached black butterflies. The overall picture was one he certainly would have liked to share with Coulson. Clearly she was developing a personality for her stage life.

“Well, I feel slightly less doomed,” Stark quipped. “You look fantastic.”

“Thank you,” she said, brushing the compliment aside. “But why are you doomed?”

“Oh, that.” Stark waved his hand dramatically in the direction of the bar.

It did the young woman credit that she did not demand to know what his gesture meant. Instead, like her father, her eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities. Then she asked,

“Are you certain they’re talking about you?”

Clint snorted. “It’s a decent bet.”

Phillipa raised her eyebrows. “You’ve done something, haven’t you?”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going. But,” Stark sighed heavily, “I suppose sometimes even I can’t get a drink.”

A thoughtful look flitted across Phillipa’s features. Then she patted his shoulder lightly, saying with a hint of amusement, “You poor thing. Someone should help you out.”

With more than her usual grace, Phillipa turned and went to the bar. Elegantly, the train caressed the floor behind her, proving again that it was not so much a dress as a work of art. The men left behind kept staring, but Natasha chuckled. When Clint looked to her, she noted,

“No wonder she isn’t working the floor. That dress will pick up every trace of dirt and pack it along behind her all night.”

Having nothing to say to that, Clint took a surreptitious picture of Phillipa to pass on to Coulson when possible. His team was unavailable tonight- in fact, Clint and Natasha should also have been unable to come, given the substantial and sudden takedown of Centipede strongholds still underway at this very moment. If Phillipa was not being given such high priority by the director himself, she might have been on her own. But he did not want any accidents.

Phillipa came back with a glass of what was either whiskey or brandy. One whiff of the fumes suggested it was well-aged brandy. There was something in the glass that seemed oddly dark, but Clint supposed it could be an ice cube.

“There. I braved the bar to mix a drink for you. Wimp.”

Apparently relieved, Stark took a large swig. For a moment his eyes bulged slightly, but then he quickly swallowed. It appeared to Clint that his eyes were watering, but all the man said was,

“Wow, you certainly can mix up quite the drink.”

Tossing her head with a playful wink, Phillipa left to talk quietly with her friend Jessica. Neither Jessica nor Ren were working tonight, but it seemed that they, like the others, were keeping an eye on Phillipa. Well, Ren might actually just be drinking and preparing ammunition for later use against Stark, but there was no possibility of Jessica simply hanging around Dark of the Moon for entertainment.

“All right, what is in that?” Natasha demanded. Turning his attention back to the inventor, Clint found that he was turning a brilliant scarlet, but still drinking. When he came to the end of the brandy, he coughed drily, and then turned to Steve.

In a very strange voice, Stark said, “If I die, make sure to give Rhodes my hotpants.”

Natasha snatched up the glass and turned it this way and that. She shook it once or twice, focused on that dark shape still in the ice. Then she reached in and produced-

“A chili pepper?”

“A habanero,” she corrected. “Why didn’t you stop drinking, you idiot?”

“You may have answered your own question,” Steve pointed out, with unusual vindictiveness.

“Does anyone. . . have a slice of bread?”

Clint shook his head, but still stood up. “I’ll get you some milk from the bar.”

The bartender was new, and obviously more than a little swamped. Aware of a few of the club rules, Clint stopped Lexi from pouring a shot of Wild Turkey. She pouted, but the new girl did not even notice. No wonder Phillipa had been able to mix up something like that. Was she punishing Stark for something? Seeing that the bartender was behind on her orders, Clint stepped behind the bar, opened the small fridge and poured a glass of milk. He left the money under Ren’s steel water bottle, which he noticed a few of the more honest patrons were doing as well. It was a good thing Ren was equally honest, or she could turn a serious profit off the new kid.

Once Stark had downed the milk, he explained, “Look, I couldn’t tell her it was a little much. I mean, it’s her first drink. That’s an accomplishment. Why spoil it by telling her it was removing my taste buds? How much do I owe you for the milk?”

As the inventor opened his wallet, Clint waved it away. “Just learn your lesson and go up to the bar yourself, will you? Who knows what she’ll put in the next one?”

“Good point.” Stark removed himself from the table just as Lexi came back with Clint and Natasha’s drinks.

“Look, if you want me to bring your stuff out in any kind of timeliness, you’ll have to make some sacrifices,” she scolded the marksman. He grinned.

“I’ll pass on seeing you on the Wild Turkey at work. That’s not a sight for the faint of heart.”

Natasha drawled, “And you could label most of your customers that, easily.”

Shaking a finger at them, Lexi cheekily said, “But you’re not, are you? You guys are kick ass. So what’s the harm?”

“Not everyone likes to see grown men cry,” Clint told the imp.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said his partner, sipping her wine. Giggling, Lexi went on her way. Strangely she had not even made a single remark in the direction of the doctor, nor even tipped him a saucy wink. He did not seem to have much to say tonight, either.

Clint took a mouthful of his beer and grimaced. “That new girl won’t last a night if she can’t tell the difference between light and dark beer.”

“Would you like me to explain to her?” Natasha offered. Chuckling, Clint reminded her,

“I don’t have anything to fear up there.”

He approached the bar with some caution, because there was quite a crowd, and some of them were getting a little restless waiting on their orders. Lacking Ren’s panache, the girl behind the counter was doing her best. At least she was not apologizing when handing out the drinks. Clint had just made his way to the bar itself when he saw Lexi squirm her way in beside Jessica, looking worried.

“Um, Domino, I kind of think Phillipa might be at DEFCON 2.” 

“Calm down, Lexi. Emilie Autumn, even for six hours, is only DEFCON 4.”

Ren nodded from her right side, taking Stark’s shot. “It’s not like she’s listening to Disturbed. Or Korn.”

Lexi writhed, twisting her skirt in her hands. “What if she’s sort of, kind of listening to Skrillex? And it’s not a remix?”

“DEFCON Zero, achieved!” Pepper announced loudly, slamming down her glass. Clint could have sworn he heard Stark whimper, but that could be left over from the habanero.

“She’s on in a minute,” Jessica soothed the other mutant. “And there is absolutely no mention of Skrillex in the set list. Everyone has their moments.”

A glance at his watch confirmed Jessica’s claim. Clint might well have to do without his beer. Without Coulson’s team, no one would be filming Phillipa’s performances for SHIELD. Therefore, Clint was supposed to do it. When he fought his way back to the table, however, Clint had a surprise.

“Hi,” Skye said tiredly. She hefted a camera. “The boss said I could, since it’s technically part of our job.”

“Nice coat,” he remarked, settling in. She only gave a weak smile. If their operation had been so bad as to leave her without sass or enthusiasm, Centipede must be a tougher organization than he had realized.

Stark also came back to the table, with Ren on one side and his glass of brandy well out of her reach on his other. That probably would not last. With Steve and Dr. Banner already seated, their table seemed complete. Pepper was still up at the bar, but likely she would stay there all night, if she was on as much of a tear as it had appeared earlier.

The doctor pointed everyone’s attention to the stage, and the group turned to get a good view. Tonight the set featured a stone bench in what was probably meant to be a garden, although everything in it seemed to be dead. Cheerful.

“Dreaming comes so easily ‘cause it’s all that I’ve known. True love is a fairy tale. I’m damaged, so how would I know? I’m scared and I’m alone. I’m ashamed and I need for you to know: I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say and you can’t take back what you’ve taken away, ‘cause I feel you. I feel you near me.”

Stark choked on his drink. “She is not singing- Ren, what’s the set list?”

Ren glared at him and said, “Be quiet, you twit. Or I will drink that drink too.”

“You don’t play fair,” Stark grumbled, but he subsided until after the applause. “You do realize she was just singing about rape, right?”

Clint felt his brows lift, but Ren snorted derisively. “It’s just a song. Will you please not panic over everything? And shut up, because she’ll be starting her next one and I happen to like it.”

After the second one, the Emilie Autumn song that Lexi had claimed was so uncharacteristic of Phillipa, Clint had to admit there was something about the theme that made him uncomfortable. She was not being medicated any longer, but SHIELD had tried it once with abysmal results. Starting to feel slightly concerned, Clint nevertheless had to wait to confirm his worries. Was it only art, or was Phillipa trying to warn them off? Was the real fallout of her discovery of the first of SHIELD’s lies still yet to come?


	58. Please Be Okay

It had to be tonight, as Skye had told her boss when she pleaded to come to the club, even if she had to go alone. After everything they had been through as a team in the last two and a half days, Skye was not going to chance missing out on finding out for certain just what kind of mental state Coulson’s daughter was in. If it was worse than she thought, they would need to scramble. Wasting the evening could only put her in more danger, and Coulson.

So far, the music was not helping Skye’s perception of Phillipa’s mental state. She knew very well Ren was deflecting Stark with her sarcastic replies to his concerns- nobody needed him stampeding in like a herd of cattle. All the same, he was not entirely wrong. The music seemed to have a message, and tonight’s theme was betrayal. The question Skye wanted answered was what Phillipa would do about it.

Therefore she wormed her way into the dressing room after Phillipa’s third song. Occupied with picking at her food, Phillipa did not notice her at first. Awkwardly, Skye rocked from one foot to the other before finally saying softly,

“Um, Phillipa?”

Skye threw up her hands defensively as Phillipa stood up. “I know you probably don’t want to see me, or at least you’d like to yell and curse at me, and I totally get it. But, and I swear this is true, I had no idea about your dad dying in the Battle for New York. Nobody told me.”

“You work for SHIELD.”

“Yeah, let me tell you, they do not believe in passing information around, like, at all. Well, okay, our S.O. is way chill, but you should see him with his robot-face on. It’s like asking a brick wall for directions. I promise, Phillipa, I wouldn’t have kept something like that from you. It’s probably why they didn’t tell me.” Since she was on such a roll, Skye could not help adding, “Well, that and I’m not even an agent yet.”

“You’re not?” Phillipa asked, starting to relax.

“No. I want to be. I mean, they do good things for a lot of people. But I’m just a contractor- kind of like somebody they go to for certain stuff they don’t do as well.”

“Hacking,” Phillipa said flatly, and Skye knew enough to just nod.

“It’s what I do.”

Twirling her fork in her fingers, Phillipa asked, “Why are you here, Skye?”

“Because I was worried about you. Lexi told me what happened, and I asked some questions about it, because it made no sense at all to me, and when I found out I was scared. I know you’ve been through hell, and that kind of lie can cut more deeply than anything else. I know that, Phillipa, because I’ve been through it too.”

Seeing that she had her interested, Skye gave in and explained everything: the orphanage, the foster homes, the broken dreams, and that hideous document that cut right into her soul. Had she had parents or someone, anyone, to care about her at all? Was there someone out there who was looking just as hard she was? She knew too damn well how Phillipa felt, being pushed and pulled around by SHIELD, and she trusted her team.

“So you don’t know anything about it?” Phillipa wanted to know, in that caring way she had that was so very much like her father.

“Not yet. I mean, bits and pieces of maybe, but nothing definite.” Skye sighed. “They’re looking, not me. And if I want to know, I have to let them do it.”

“How can you let them pull your strings like that?”

Thinking of all she owed her teammates, Skye said simply, “I trust them. They’re not going to hurt me. It’s such a weird thing to feel. I mean, even when I was going out with this guy that I thought was totally awesome, I still held back. Turned out I was right to, but I didn’t think I knew how to trust. And suddenly, I’m not scared of letting them take the wheel. I mean, I want to know- I need to know. But I’ll take their schedule if it means someday I’ll know, because they promised I would.”

Phillipa sighed. “I thought I knew what that was like too. Turns out I was wrong.”

Gently, Skye patted her shoulder. “Don’t give up, okay? I know it sounds lame, but things will turn around. They did for me.”

Watching her face for any sign of hope, Skye wished very much that she could really spill all of the truth. But she had to hold back, at least until she was sure that Coulson was okay. No matter how broken by this deception Phillipa might be, Skye wanted to give her back a father who was not equally damaged. Two broken people could never make a whole one. And they needed each other, a lot.


	59. Betting Pool

Domino watched Phillipa shake out her skirt and sigh. “It’s like being a Swiffer, I swear.”

“That makes you the prettiest one I’ve ever seen,” the mutant said gently. With Phillipa so frail, she was working hard to keep her in balance. Considering tonight’s vocal selections, this was not an easy task.

“All the same, bling will not make me any less of a mop.”

Before Phillipa could move to further wallowing, Ren stuck her head in the door. She was not, surprisingly, wearing her glasses. This might have been down to the fact that she was- very likely- more than a little drunk. Half in and half out of the room, she told Phillipa,

“Good job burning off Stark’s taste buds. Now he’s complaining I have to kiss him more because it’s only half as fun.”

“What?” asked Phillipa and Domino in unison.

Sliding through the door completely, and trailing Lexi, Ren explained, “That drink you gave him was cruel and unusual punishment, especially considering it was you and not me. Nice.”

“But- but you said that high-class drinks have peppers in them!”

“Chili peppers whole, maybe. Habanero slices, even. But not the whole habanero.” Ren snickered. “And he drank all of it, the idiot.”

Mortified, Phillipa looked pleadingly to Domino. “Habanero peppers are sweet, aren’t they?”

“But also very hot,” Domino said. “Why didn’t you ask- what’s her name? The new girl?”

“Emberlily- and no I am not making that up, Ren. Maybe she did, but that’s what she told Jay,” Lexi insisted. “She’s totally swamped, Domino. And Clint says Stark nearly expired drinking the whole thing. He left his hotpants to Rhodes.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Phillipa wailed. “I could have just gotten him a brandy!”

“He’s an idiot,” Ren pointed out, settling in on the ratty couch. “A surprisingly good in the sack idiot.”

The other three women turned to look at her. Aside from being uncharacteristic, it was also just plain weird to hear the mutant say. Lexi noted, “You are SO drunk.”

“Not as drunk as Pepper Potts- although, you guys, seriously, if that was my name, I would fucking shoot my parents.”

“Anyway,” Lexi chirped, “Jay wants you to hop up on stage and be gorgeous again, Phillipa. You know, ‘cause you are so good at it.”

“You know the more you guys compliment me, the less I believe it.”

“Well, I prefer you in blue,” Lexi agreed as she escorted Phillipa out. “Blue is just such a perfect color, right?”

Domino frowned after them, but before she could leave, Ren sat forward and said somberly, “Domino, Stark’s found something.”

“About what?”

“Not what, about who. Our little songbird. And don’t ask me what, because I have been asking Pepper all night and now I am fucking drunker than a skunk and I still don’t know. Except that she is pissed as hell about it. I guess you’d better do something about it, though, because whatever it is, it’s bad enough that Pepper is going to Paris tomorrow, and leaving Stark with nobody to replace her. So, you know, it seems pretty amazingly bad.” 

“I thought Jen didn’t want me to talk with you about confidential things,” Domino pointed out.

Ren snorted. “Not about things that she’s going to tell the Brotherhood about anyway. Come on, whatever it is will be all over the club by tomorrow. Especially if Pepper keeps drinking.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“Interference. I can just about handle Stark, but you have to keep Pepper away from Phillipa. Seriously, that woman is going to spill her gut to someone. She only has the one, by the way- what a pussy. Hell, keep her away from everybody if you can. If Stark is going to tell Phillipa, he’ll probably tell everybody.”

Domino thought about this. “No, they’ll stop him. But you’re right about Pepper. Fine, I’ll ask Jen to send her home. Don’t you dare get righteous about it; tonight is not a good time for another horrible revelation.”

Rolling her eyes, Ren retorted, “Righteous isn’t my style. Neither is stupid. Jen won’t ever agree to using the voice on a human.”

“Maybe she will for Phillipa’s sake,” Domino replied. “She seems awfully attached to her, I must say.”

Ren gave her the finger rather than rise to the bait. It was true, however. Something was going on, which was why Eric was so interested. If Jen wanted someone kept safe, there had to be a reason and Eric wanted to be in, so he said, on the ground floor. So far, the adventure was proving more than Domino would have ever guessed. She kept her reports to him to the bare facts of what she understood, because she did not trust him. Her loyalty was honestly to herself. Having been dragged through hell by humans, she did not want to turn out like them.

This did mean, however, that Domino was going to have to speak to Jen. To put it mildly, they did not get along. It was not that they disagreed on anything in particular, it was something about Jen herself that put Domino’s hackles up. When she was not too proud, Domino had to admit that her dislike was mostly down to fear. The fact that Jen could control her every action, and even her thoughts, brought up very unpleasant memories for Domino.

Aside from that, however, Jen was a damn stick. Not in terms of her figure- she was slim, but not without curves- but in terms of personality. Unlike her fiancée, there was no sense of flexibility to Jen. If she was any more rigid, she would snap. And she was so icily polite that Domino occasionally wanted to slap her just to see if she shattered.

Echo gave her a sweet smile when she saw her approach the table. Everything about Echo’s personality was the opposite of Jen’s- at least as far as Domino knew. She was loud, bright and welcoming. She even beckoned Domino closer.

Jen gave her a cool nod. “You are here about Miss Potts?”

Annoyed that she already knew, Domino said curtly, “She needs to go home before someone gets hurt.”

“Which is why I called her a cab and sent a friend home with her. She will thank you for your concern, of course, once she returns from Paris. I hope she will enjoy her vacation.”

Face tight, Domino turned to leave, but Echo caught her arm. “If you have a few minutes, why don’t you chat? Everyone else is busy, you see.”

“Strange that you came here tonight,” Jen noted. “You tend to enjoy your free days with Pietro.”

Icy, nosy bitch, Domino thought. “He’s busy.”

“A pity, to be sure,” Jen said calmly. There was no telling exactly what she meant by that.

“We were talking about the benefit concert,” Echo explained. “Do you know any decent musicians?”

“Why would you want my opinion?” Domino demanded.

Coolly, Jen told her, “Just because I seem to disapprove of the. . . company you keep, does not mean I disapprove of you personally, Domino. I learned that lesson from watching the X-Men. Now, do you know any musicians, or shall we discuss something else? Something that is bothering you, perhaps?”

“Why did you choose Phillipa to be your pawn?” Domino demanded.

“And that would be my cue to get drinks,” Echo said, hastily rising. “Need a beer, Domino?”

“No,” the mutant said, eyes on Jen.

Calm as always, Jen nodded to her fiancée. “Another glass of the white. Try Lexi instead of Emberlily.”

The moment she was out of earshot, Domino repeated her question. “Why Phillipa? And why did you use the voice on her when you say you never will?”

“I did not,” Jen told her, one eyebrow raised.

“You had to! Phillipa would never be so damn stupid.”

“Is it foolish to care about those who have been left behind, Domino? Well, I shall take note of your feelings in that regard.”

“This is not a game, damn it,” Domino snapped. “She does not need you meddling with her life, you interfering bitch!”

Both brows went up. “Meddling? Really, Domino, don’t be so dramatic. I asked her, and she consented. The choice was her own, and I honestly resent the implication that I would do something so heinous as forcing her into this benefit.”

“Why ask her at all?”

“Because she is the best possible candidate? Don’t be so dense, my dear. We both know her past-”

“Some of us better than others,” muttered Domino.

Jen did not answer that charge. “And she understands all too well how the Morlocks feel. Since I cannot coax any of them to represent themselves here on the surface, I felt Phillipa would be an excellent analog. However, if you dislike this situation so much and if you are indeed the friend you pretend to be to her, I must ask why you have not said so to her yourself. After all, is that not what friends are for?”

Furious, Domino could hardly speak. “You-”

Almost like a viper, Jen leaned forward and hissed, “Do you really think I am blind? You report her every move to Eric, and repeat to him anything she tells you that is of note. Phillipa knows that Renata speaks to me about her, because Ren would never be so foolish as to deny the fact, but you hide your own activities. If you want to be deserving of the title of friend, you should do her the courtesy of telling her the truth about your own past, Neena.”

Shocked, Domino could think of nothing to say. She had not realized that Jen was keeping such close tabs on her. Of course, that was the spy’s curse: watch, but never forget you are being watched in turn.

Sitting back in her seat, Jen said more normally, “In any case, the next time you think to charge me with something of that nature, do try to have some proof. Otherwise you look a fool.”

“Your drink, madam,” Echo said cheerfully. “And yes, in spite of your warnings to be kind, I told Emberlily that it was a stupid name, because: Wow. Don’t you think so, Domino?”

“It’s not the only thing around here that’s stupid,” Domino growled, getting up from the table. She was not going to sit here and be belittled by the queen bitch for what she had to do. What did Jen know about sacrifice?

On her way back to the dressing room, Lexi caught her arm. “Domino, there is a boy following me around and he looks very cute and he called me ‘Sexy Lexi’ without me asking and he wants my number and did I say he’s cute because he has a very nice ass and what do I do?”

“Give him your number?”

“Oh, but I don’t want to look easy. But his hair is just a little curly and it’s very cute- Kat said if I didn’t want him, she’d give him a ride so I said I did maybe, but gosh, Domino, how can I just give him my number?”

“You walk up to him and put it in his hand,” Domino suggested, slightly thrown by this behavior. Lexi was usually the one following boys around.

“But what if he was joking? I mean, he has very pretty blue eyes, but-”

“Is he a score-keeper?” Domino asked, as much to hush her up as to get the information.

Lexi shook her head so vigorously that her fascinator was in serious danger. “Nope. I asked around and everyone says he’s nice, but not interested. Only he asked for my number!”

“Well, where is he?”

“He’s over there- oh don’t look! He’ll know I’m telling you about him!”

Domino stared. “What is wrong with that?”

“You don’t think he’ll think I’m easy? I mean he only asked me fifteen minutes ago.”

“You have been letting him hang on your answer for fifteen minutes and you want to know if he’ll think you’re easy?”

Lexi wrung her hands. “I should make him wait an hour, right? But what if he goes home?”

“I- are you feeling all right?”

“Well, if you must know, I’m feeling rather hot and bothered- did you see the muscles on him. Whew!”

Since she just had to know, Domino asked, “But what about Dr. Banner?”

“Oh, him,” sighed Lexi. “He won’t give me the time of day, and you know? His ass isn’t that great. The Hulk, now, he has a fine ass. But without Dr. Banner, there’s no Hulk. So, it’s hopeless. And he’s never called me Sexy Lexi.”

How soon we learn, thought Domino. “Well, what’s this new boy’s name then?”

“Jonathan,” swooned Lexi. “Isn’t that a great name? Goes with his ass. But I really can’t give him my number so soon, right?”

“Lexi, do not make me give him your number,” Domino said, and regretted it at once.

“Oh, but that’s such a wonderful idea! Then, you know, you can look at him too and tell me if he’s really that dreamy, or if I’m crazy and being a floozy. And I can be a lady and just wave.”

“Fifteen minutes from now, you two are going to be in the supply closet,” Domino grumbled.

“But that’s forbidden, Domino. Double forbidden, because it’s Ren’s place now. Please take him my number! He’s so cute, I just can’t say anything!”

Doomed, the older mutant took the slip of paper over to the patron. He was not bad looking, as Lexi had hinted. Those brown almost curls were rather devastating for Lexi, Domino knew. Lexi had never been quiet about what she liked in a man. Only now that it came down to a boy who was interested in her, she was all nerves. Who knew?

“Excuse me,” she said, but he was already standing up. One point for good manners.

“No, pardon me,” he insisted and now Domino knew exactly why Lexi could not speak to him. He was British and Lexi died for accents. The last time had been when a health inspector from Russia had been through. For her own defense, Lexi had barricaded herself in the dressing room and refused to come out. Something about gushing from all the embarrassing places.

“Lexi wanted you to have her number after all,” Domino settled for saying. His whole face lit up.

“Really? I feel so honored. Everyone told me she loves to flirt, but I feared I had said something amiss.”

“Trust me, you didn’t,” Domino assured him.

“Do you suppose- no, I probably should stay here. If she wanted to talk, she would come over, don’t you think?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Domino growled. She grabbed his arm and hauled him over to Lexi. “Would the pair of you just get ON with it?”

She left the pair of them to it- either they would nail each other within the next ten minutes, or they would spend all night staring at each other awkwardly. Whichever it was, Domino was all out of fucks to give. Phillipa was on stage, and actually being called back for an encore, and damned if Domino was going to miss it for crap like this!

Of course, Stark had to call her over to the table, asking after Ren. When she told him so far as she knew, Ren was still in the dressing room, he looked uncomfortable. Well, he should! The dressing room was a no-fly zone during working hours- in other words, no penises past the door. Jay came down heavily, all two hundred pounds of him, on anyone in violation of that rule.

“Look, there’s something I wanted to discuss with all of you, after Phillipa goes home, if you could stick around? Also, could you please promise to do nothing to my body that Ren wants to do first?”

“Yes, fine, whatever! Could I maybe listen to the song? God, what the fuck is the matter with everyone tonight? The full moon is on freaking Sunday!”

Now everyone at the table was staring at her. Damn it. She huffed and took a seat, listening grumpily to Phillipa sing “Take the Pill.” One of these days she was going to live in the middle of nowhere, with a laser grid and mines all around her property. She’d pay money to see the crazy people get through that!

Phillipa came down directly from the stage, smiling that wan little smile of hers. “Hey Domino. Where have you been?”

“Don’t ask, please,” Domino groaned. “You have your ride home?”

“Yep. And Lance said to tell you that his balls will be safe from you, because he’s not into that sort of thing- which I really wish he would just tell you himself, because yuck. You’re hanging around?”

“Someone has to make sure that Lexi and her new boytoy make it out of the club, at least,” Domino explained, telling a partial truth.

“Boytoy?” Dr. Banner asked. Whoops.

Phillipa was already looking for Lexi. “Oh, is that Jonathan? Kat said he was cute. And very intrigued by Lexi. But why aren’t they talking?”

“Some things even the gods can’t manage,” Domino muttered.

Puzzled, Phillipa seemed ready to ask what that meant, but the table wanted her attention. Skye gave her a big hug and got a real smile in return. Maybe Phillipa was not so tired as she appeared. Even though they clearly did not expect it, the others were hugged also. No matter what Domino thought of the little spy, she certainly seemed adept at opening doors between people to bring them together. Clint said something in Phillipa’s ear, but she only nodded in reply, so Domino did not know what they were talking about.

“Okay, I meant it when I said hang out,” Stark insisted when the others started to gather their things. “And we should all brave the dressing room to get Ren.”

“Chicken,” Natasha quipped, giving him a sidelong glance of amusement.

“Or, you could get her. No one could possibly accuse you of having the wrong equipment.”

“If you want her, you should get her yourself. Otherwise she might get the wrong idea,” she replied.

“I want to offer you so much money to prove it, but I also am very attached to certain bits of me that would enjoy it, but suffer later.” Stark sighed. “She’s probably passed out anyway. Domino, if you would pry Lexi from her new plaything, I’ll get my girlfriend.”

“How long are you going to keep using that term?” Clint asked.

“I have twenty bucks on her socking him within the hour,” Skye said cheerfully. “Tell me how it goes, will you?”

“You do? I have fifty on the next thirty minutes,” Steve told the hacker.

“I have such lovely friends,” Stark muttered.

Domino opened her wallet. “Twenty on the next fifteen.”

“You are all trying to kill me!”

Spinning him around, Domino said, “If I can get Lexi over to the table, you can bring out Ren. Don’t make me lose money.”

Ignoring the laughter behind her, she headed on over to Lexi and Jonathan. They had not progressed beyond awkward eye contact. Rolling her own eyes, Domino grabbed Lexi around the waist.

“Excuse me, I need to borrow this.”

It was a good thing Lexi weighed so little, although she never seemed as light as Phillipa. Domino wondered if anyone else had noticed that. Hopefully Stark’s news would be quick, because Lexi was starting to squirm.

“Domino! I was almost going to talk to him, I know it.”

“Right. And the ice caps were almost going to melt all at once. Save your play-pretty for later. Stark says he has news about Phillipa.”

“We’re also taking bets as to when Ren is going to punch Stark for calling her his girlfriend,” Natasha told the little mutant. Skye had not stuck around, as her earlier comment had suggested.

“Oh, can I have twenty on the next ten minutes?”

“I told you. It’s a conspiracy!”

Ren glowered at the billionaire. “Do not make me win all their bets.”

“But-”

Before Ren could disembowel the inventor, Domino cut in, “You said you had important news about Phillipa. Could you just spit it out already?”

Sighing, Stark ran his hand through his hair. “Well, I’m sure Clint and Natasha will murder me anyway, but I don’t know how much they know, or SHIELD knows. I’m sure, though, that Phillipa doesn’t know, so I need to know if I ought to tell her. I mean, she’s been through a lot just lately.”

“Could we come to the point?” Ren demanded.

With another sigh, Stark told the group, “Phil wasn’t Phillipa’s father. But there’s more to it than that.”

“Before we come to that, how do you know that Phillipa isn’t Coulson’s daughter?” Steve angrily wanted to know.

Shrugging, Stark said, “Oh, you know, I took some of her DNA from that bottle of juice she left and tested it against Phil’s. They’re not a match, at all. And that was weird. Most people match an allele or two-”

“Hold on,” commanded Dr. Banner, coming out of whatever trance he had been in since Domino had exposed Lexi’s new crush. “You tested Phillipa’s DNA without her consent?”

“Yes, yes, I broke the law- is anyone surprised? No? Good. I wanted to know why she looked so much like Phil. Nobody but nobody looks exactly like their parent, especially not in a father to daughter situation.”

“Can I hit him?” Ren asked. Clint checked his watch.

“We’re still well within Lexi’s time.”

“Seriously, why does everyone want my girlfriend to hit me- Ow! Ow! No, look, not the face!”

After Ren had finished the pummelling, Stark continued, from his new seat on Dr. Banner’s other side. “If I could finish? That wasn’t all I found out. And I really think she needs to find out before someone else does.”


	60. Family

Phil stopped pretending to sleep at one in the morning. Whatever that machine had done to him, whatever the doctor told him, Phil could hardly believe that he had given up so easily. Why had he been begging to die? Was he such a coward?

And what about his baby girl? How could he have forsaken her, no matter the pain? He had promised to protect her. What could possibly take that urge from him? For that matter, what could have restored it?

His thoughts still racing, Phil reached for his picture of her. There she was, so young and sweet. He could almost hear her giggling and pleading for him to let her fly in his arms. Then, it had seemed so easy to keep her close. Only a few days later, he had learned the truth. One gunshot had claimed all of his illusion of safety.

Sitting up, Phil took his photo and went upstairs to his office. The rest of the team had crashed hours ago. Even May had gone to her bed after letting Skye back on the bus. The hacker had left the video camera on his desk, but that was not what Phil was after. Picking up his pad instead, Phil typed in, “Subject Query: Neyna Sulong.”

For a while, he lingered over the photos. There were only two, both of which he had taken. She was not smiling, but he remembered the curve of her lips. Too, he could hear her speaking with her intelligence audible in every syllable. He recalled her lovely blue eyes dancing as she made a quiet joke at his expense, and he almost felt her fingers brushing over his skin as she slid her hand into his.

For all that he spoke about the cellist with respectful tenderness, Neyna was his true love and the puzzle he had truly enjoyed solving. From the moment she had claimed him, he had pretty much been without any other option. He had fallen for her almost at once. They had not bothered with much dancing around the subject; not with Neyna being as forward as she was, nor he being so lost in his adoration. It happened that same night, honestly. Just looking at her had been enough for him, and she- as far as he knew, she had felt the same urgency. Once it was settled, all that remained was to convince the director Phil was not totally insane. So far, he still seemed to be withholding judgment. 

In only a short time, they had been blessed with such a beautiful baby girl. Oh, Ani was not technically his, but Phil had known he was meant to be her father the moment she was in his arms. She looked so much like her mother when she was tiny, and spent much of her early years never more than a foot away from Neyna, but she had adored him as well. Under her fiery love, rocks would melt. What chance had his mere human heart stood?

Much like her mother, Ani had been intelligent, shy, and surprisingly gorgeous. But she had a joie de vivre that was foreign to Neyna, and how she had been so naively trusting! Perhaps that part of her was mostly buried under the weight of what had happened, but some of it still shone through. That boy, for example- no streetwise New York lady would ever fall for someone as shady as he appeared. And there were the mutants, too, though they turned out to be all right.

For over five years, Phil had belonged to Neyna and Ani. He had shared almost everything with them, whether he wanted to or not. As he had already told Agent Ward, it had been wonderful. Especially the way Ani took over his every waking moment and happily brought along her mother, which Phil could never object to. They had been a family, something which he and Neyna had longed for.

Ani had made them a family, though. Much like Skye, she knew how to open doors in hearts without trouble. Something about the way she would snuggle in against her mother, but look at him with her big blue eyes, so expectant that he would join them, drew him right in. She was unquestionably a cuddler, but the part that had fascinated him was her cheerful willingness to explain what he ought to be doing, as though she was a tiny parent. If she had done that to her mother, he would have thought it was par for the course- except that she did not. With her mother she was always respectful and somber. Tantrums were reserved solely for Phil. Surprisingly, he handled them easily. Life seemed so smooth, and rich.

Then, abruptly, Neyna had been killed. Their family had fallen to pieces, and though both Phil and Ani had tried to hang on, when the director told him that Ani was in danger because Phil was her father, Phil had given in. He had thought then that he was protecting her. Now he knew that something more sinister had been brewing, not only in SHIELD, but in his own heart. His guilt and fear had driven him from his child’s side, cowering under the lie that it was for her own good.

It had not taken long for Phil to realize his own motivations had been less than pure. By then, however, SHIELD was proceeding full tilt with its own agenda. Try though he had for years, Phil had been denied guardianship repeatedly. When Agatha, his former partner who had volunteered to help him take care of Ani while Phil was still in shock, had first been appointed as her guardian, Phil had thought it was a good sign. But she was just a pawn in someone else’s master plan.

Bit by bit, Ani had become Mary Coulson, leaving behind memories of her mother and what had truly happened in her childhood. As Ani disappeared, Agatha slowly disintegrated as well, losing herself to the bottle- be it alcohol or pills. She had hinted darkly that the ultimate plan for Ani was wrong somehow, but she had never felt capable of giving specifics. By the time she killed herself, Phil thought it was simple paranoia.

For all that, he made another push to reclaim his daughter. After everything she had been through, she deserved better than a foster home and a caseworker who had to look at her file to remember her name. But the Council had denied him yet again, saying that it was exactly the wrong time to swamp her with uncomfortable recollections.

The lies were piling up, making it hard for Phil to find the truth. Why had he been brought back from the dead, but not allowed to return to the one person who motivated him daily to keep going? Moreover, why was Ani not allowed to know who she truly was, especially since they kept a list of people like her who were all made fully aware of their abilities at once? It was time to unravel it all so that he could bring her home.

**Author's Note:**

> I sadly dedicate this work to Felicia "Filly," the softest, sweetest, most loving cat who gave me six uninterrupted hours to edit the night before she passed away. I will miss you climbing onto my shoulders instead of the back of the couch, which was RIGHT THERE. I will miss discovering you had knocked over the garbage can, climbed on the dining room table, stolen the butter from the top of the microwave and pooped in the kid's room, AGAIN, more than you will ever know. But mostly I will miss coming home to you explaining that you were wasting away into nothing even if I just left five minutes ago. It's nice to know you noticed me.


End file.
